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WINNING HIS GAME 


By Ralph Henry Barbour 

Purple Pennant Series 
The Lucky Seventh 
The Secret Play 
The Purple Pennant 

Yardley Hall Series 
Forward Pass For Yardley 

Double Play Around the End 

Winning His Y Change Signals 

Hilton Series 

The Half-back For the Honor of the School 

Captain of the Crew 

Erskine Series 

Behind the Line Weatherby’s Inning 

On Your Mark 

The “Big Four’' Series 
Four in Camp Four Afoot 

Four Afloat 

The Grafton Series 
Rivals for the Team Winning His Game 

Books not in Series 
The Brother of a Hero The Junior Trophy 
Finkler’s Field The New Boy at Hilltop 

Danforth Plays the Game The Spirit of the School 
Benton’s Venture The Arrival of Jimpson 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, Publitheri, New York 


72 C 



WINNING 
HIS GAME 


BY 

RALPH HENRY BARBOUR 

AtnrBO& OF “rivals for the team,” “the purple pennant,” etc. 



ILLUSTRATED BY 
WALT LOUDERBACK 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
NEW YORK LONDON 

1917 


COPTBIGHT, 1017, BT 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 





MAR 20,1917 


Printed in the United States of Amenca 


©CI.A455951 
' *n. ^ / 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


I. 

Dud Wonders 


• 

. 1 

II. 

The Entering Wedge . 



. 13 

III. 

29 Lothrop . 



. 25 

IV. 

A Chance Meeting 



. 36 

V. 

Dud Loses His Temper 



. 49 

VI. 

First Practice 



. 59 

VII. 

Ben Myatt Advises 



. 69 

VIII. 

A Wild Pitch 



. 81 

IX. 

Jimmy Takes Charge . 



. 93 

X. 

The Challenge . 

9 


. 104 

XL 

With the Scrubs . 

9 


. 118 

XII. 

On the River 

• 

t 

. 130 

XIII. 

Confession . 

• 

9 

. 138 

XIV. 

Marooned! . 

• 

S 

• 148 

XV. 

Dud Serves Them Up . 

. 


. 160 

XVI. 

The Track Meet 

. 


. 172 

XVII. 

Baseball, Tennis and Oysters 


. 184 

XVIII. 

Dud Goes to the Rescue 

. 


. 192 

XIX. 

Back to the Bench 

• 


. 207 


V 


CONTENTS 


PASS 


CHAPTER 


XX. 

Jimmy Encourages 

. . 219 

XXL 

On the Mound . 

. . 230 

XXII. 

Dud Comes Back . 

. . 240 

XXIII. 

Ben Tells a Secret 

. 253 

XXIV. 

The First Game . 

. . 264 

XXV. 

Left Behind 

. 274 

XXVI. 

The Borrowed Hand-Car . 

. 286 

XXVII. 

Winning His Game 

. . 301 


THE ILLUSTRATIONS 


“The ball, curving inward, met his bat fairly and 

screeched off into short center” . . . Frontispiece 

FACING 

PAG£ 

“ ‘You’re a sneaky little bounder, that’s what you 

are!”’ 38^ 

“ ‘The canoes have gone!’ ” 144 


“Jimmy . 
Dud 


was rolling over on the platform and 
. with him” 


282 





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WINNING HIS GAME 


CHAPTER I 

DUD WONDERS 

J IMMY LOGAN stood his skis in the comer 
behind the door and, tramping heavily to get 
the clinging snow from his shoes, climbed the 
first flight In Trow Hall slowly and then dragged 
wearied feet down the corridor to Number 19. 
Once inside the room, he said, “Hello,’* shied his 
cap onto his bed and sank exhaustedly in the nearest 
chair, stretching his legs across the rug and slump- 
ing down until the wet collar of his mackinaw came 
in contact with his ears. Whereupon he muttered, 
“Ugh!” and sat up another Inch or two. 

Across the room, one foot on the floor and the 
other doubled up beneath him on the windowseat, 
was Jimmy’s roommate. His response to the greet- 
ing had been brief and delivered in a preoccupied 
voice, for Dudley Baker had a book open before 
him on the cushion and held a stained and battered 
baseball in his right hand. His attention was 
I 


WINNING HIS GAME 


divided between book and ball and had no room 
for Jimmy. The latter’s gaze presently came away 
from his shoes, which were trickling water to the 
rug, and fixed itself on Dudley. He had to sit up 
still higher in the chair to get an uninterrupted view 
of his chum, which proceeding elicited a protesting 
groan from him, and after he had attained it he in- 
stantly decided that it was not worth while and 
deeply regretted the exertion it had caused him. 
He promptly descended again on his spine, crossed 
his feet and sighed luxuriously. 

The dollar clock on Dudley’s chiffonier ticked 
briskly and loudly in the ensuing silence. Outside 
the windows tiny flakes of snow were falling. The 
shadows deepened in the room. In the corridor 
deliberate footsteps sounded and suddenly the tran- 
som over the door showed yellow and an oblong 
of light appeared on the ceiling. Mr. Crump, the 
school janitor, was lighting the dormitories. Jimmy 
wished that his shoes were off, and his mackinaw, 
and the woolen socks, but as yet he wasn’t equal to 
the task. When Mr. Crump’s footsteps had died 
away on the stairs Jimmy broke the silence. 

“What’ re you doing?” he asked uninterestedly. 
There was, however, no reply from the window- 
seat, possibly because Jimmy’s tones had been too 
faint to reach there. After a moment Jimmy turned 
his head and stared across a pile of books on the 
2 


DUD WONDERS 


study table at the three or four inches of Dudley’s 
head that were visible. Then: 

^^Dudr he bawled resentfully. 

“Huh?” 

“What are you doing, I asked you.” 

“Oh, me? Oh, just trying to dope out some of 
this stuff.” 

“What stuff?” 

“Stuff about pitching. How to hold the ball, you 
know.” 

“Oh!” Jimmy subsided again and another period 
of silence followed. Then: 

“You don’t expect to play baseball for a while, 
do you?” he asked lazily. “You’d better study how 
to throw a snowball!” He chuckled faintly at his 
joke. 

“It isn’t so long now,” responded Dud soberly. 
“They’re going to call candidates the twenty-first.” 

“Gym work,” grunted the other. “Take my ad- 
vice and keep away from it. Don’t go out for the 
team until it gets out of doors. Are you still think- 
ing of trying for the school?” 

“Of course.” 

Jimmy grunted. “You’ll have a fine show, I don’t 
think! Better try for the second. Dud.” 

“I don’t expect to make it, but it’s good practice, 
and maybe next year ” 

“You’ll stand more chance with the second, and 

3 


WINNING HIS GAME 


have a lot more fun. The second’s going to have 
a regular schedule this year; five or six games, may- 
be; going away for some of them, too.” 

“If I don’t make the first, and I suppose I 
won’t, of course, I’ll try for the second,” said 
Dud. “I asked Murtha this morning If he thought 
it would be all right to try for the first, and he 
said ” 

“Guy Murtha said, ‘Yes, indeed, Baker, we want 
all the candidates we can get!’ That’s what they 
always tell you, and then, when you get out there, 
they Inform you gently but firmly that you won’t 
do, and hadn’t you better stay with your class team 
this year and try again next? What’s the use? I 
like to play ball. Dud, but you don’t catch me put- 
ting In a month’s grind In the cage and then getting 
the G. B. as soon as we get outdoors. Me for the 
second — and safety.” 

“You’re lazy,” replied Dud, shutting his book 
and stowing the ball back of the pillows. “You 
could make the first this spring if you’d try for it. 
You ought to, too.” 

Jimmy shrugged. “Maybe so. But I’d rather 
have a sure place on the second, thanks. Gee,- but 
I’m tired!” 

“Skiing?” 

“Yes; Pete Gordon and Kelly and Gus and I. 
We climbed up to the Observatory and then hiked 
4 


DUD WONDERS 


half-way over to the Falls. It was piles of fun 
going down the mountain. Gus Weston took a 
header and turned over about forty-eleven times and 
then went into a snow bank head-first up to his waist. 
Eut we tried to do too much. My legs feel as if 
they’d never stop aching I What have you been 
doing? Been in here all the afternoon? But, of 
course, you have. I forgot about your tooth. How 
is it? Any better?” 

“Yes. I guess I caught a little cold’ in it. I wish 
that dentist chap would yank it out instead of prac- 
ticing on it !” Dud turned the lights on and perched 
himself across a chair at the opposite side of the 
table, his arms on the back, and observed Jimmy in 
a thoughtful fashion. Jimmy grunted. 

“Shoot,” he said. “What’s on your mind?” 

“I — I’ve been wondering, Jimmy.” 

“Oh, gee!” Jimmy groaned deeply. “At it 
again, eh? Well, what is it this time. Dud? The 
other day you were worrying yourself thin because 
you were afraid you were costing your folks too 
much money, or something.” 

Dud smiled. “Not exactly worrying,” he replied. 
“Just — just wondering.” 

“There isn’t much difference, the way you do it. 
If I ” 

“Not so much about how much I was costing 
them as whether they’re going to get their money’s 
5 


WINNING HIS GAME 


worth, Jimmy. Sometimes I wonder whether Fm 
really doing any good here. Now you look at it 
this way ’’ 

“I won’t! I refuse! Besides, that’s an old one. 
What’s your latest worry?” 

“It isn’t a worry — exactly. I was only thinking 

that ” He paused. Then: “Oh, I guess it 

isn’t anything, after all. Say, you’d better get out 
of those wet things, Jimmy.” 

“I’m going to just as soon as I have strength to 
move. But I want to hear your new — er — problem. 
Dud. Come across. ’Fess up to your Uncle 
Jimmy.” 

Dud hesitated, smiling a bit embarrassedly. He 
was a good-looking chap of fifteen, with clean-cut 
features, a rather fair complexion and very bright 
blue eyes. He was small-boned and slim, and, since 
he had been doing a lot of growing the past twelve 
months, he looked a trifle “weedy.” In that respect 
he was a distinct contrast to his roommate, for 
James Townsend Logan was a stocky lad, wide of 
shoulder and broad of chest. Jimmy was sixteen, al- 
though only four months divided the two boys in age. 
Jimmy’s features were nondescript, but the result 
was pleasing. He wore his red-brown hair rather 
long — Dud said it was because he was too lazy to 
have it cut oftener than once every term — and had a 
short nose and a wide, humorous mouth and a very 
6 


DUD WONDERS 


square chin. He was a member of the upper middle 
class, while Dud was a lower middler. 

“I guess it’s sort of silly,” said Dud after a mo- 
ment. “But I’ve been wondering” — Jimmy groaned 
again — “why I don’t know more fellows, Jimmy, 
why I don’t — don’t ‘mix’ better. I don’t believe I 

really care a whole lot ” He paused again. 

“Yes I do, too, though. I’d like to have fellows like 
me, Jimmy, as they do you, and ask me to do things 
and go places and — and all that. Of course, I know 
the trouble’s with me, all right, but — ^but what is it?” 

^‘Oh, piffle. Dud! Fellows do like you.” 

“Yes, about the way they like the steps in front 
of School Hall. That is, they don’t exactly like 
me; they just — just don’t dislike me. I guess I’d 
rather have them do that than not care a fig whether 
I’m alive or dead. I suppose this sounds silly, 
but 

“Honest confession is good for the soul,” re- 
sponded Jimmy lightly. “But I think you’re wrong 
about it. Dud. Or, anyway — now look here ” 

“I suppose I’m just not cut out to be what you 
might call popular,” interrupted Dud thoughtfully. 
“Well, but still ” 

“Shut up and let me talk I The trouble with you 
is that you don’t let fellows find out whether they 
can like you or not. You don’t — don’t ‘mix’ — do 

you see? If you’d get into things more ” 

7 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“But that’s just it! How can I when I see that 
I’m not wanted?” 

“That’s just imagination, Dud. You can’t ex- 
pect fellows to fall all over themselves and hug 
you! You’ve got to show ’em that you’re ready 
to be friends. You’ve got to make the start your- 
self. What do you do when someone says ‘Let’s 
do this or that’? You mutter something about hav- 
ing to dig Latin or math and sneak off. Fellows 
naturally think you don’t want to do the things 
they do. Now today, for instance ” 

“I couldn’t have gone, Jimmy, with this plaguey 
toothache !” 

“Why, no, I guess you couldn’t. But, thundera- 
tion. Dud, if it isn’t a toothache it’s something else. 
You’ve always got some perfectly wonderful ex- 
cuse for beating it about the time the fun begins. 
Not that you missed much this afternoon, for you 
didn’t, barring a lot of tired muscles, but you often 
do miss things. To be what you call a ‘mixer,’ Dud, 
you’ve got to ‘mix,’ and you don’t know the first 
thing about it. Fellows like you, all right, what 
they see of you, but you don’t give them a 
chance.” 

Dud stared thoughtfully at the green shade be- 
fore him. “Ye-yes, I suppose that’s true, Jimmy. 
But I don’t like to stick around when fellows are 
getting up things because I think that maybe they 
8 


DUD WONDERS 


won’t want me in on it and that if I’m there they’ll 
think they have to ask me.” 

“Huh! What if they do have to ask you? Let 
’em! Then when they see that you’re a regular 
feller they’ll ask you next time without having to.” 

“But I wonder if I am.” 

“Am what?” asked Jimmy ungrammatically. 

“A ‘regular feller.’ Maybe I’m not. I won- 
der ” 

Jimmy threw up his hands in despair. “Oh, gee, 
he’s at it again! Dud, what you want to do is 
stop wondering. You’re the finest little wonderer 
that ever came down the pike, all right, but you 
spend so much time at it that you don’t get any- 
where. Now, you take my advice, old chap, and 
stop wondering whether fellows like you or don’t 
like you. Just get out and butt in a little. When 
you see a crowd walk right into the middle of it 
and find out whether it’s a fight or a frolic. And, 
whatever it is, take a hand. Now there’s some 
mighty good advice. Dud, take it from me. I didn’t 
know I had it in me ! And let me tell you another 
thing, kid. If you expect to have a show for the 
first team you want to crawl out of your shell and 
rub shoulders with fellows. Get hunky with the 
first team crowd, do you see? Be — be more of a 
— well, more of a regular feller, like I said before. 
Don’t try too hard to be popular, though. Fel- 
9 


WINNING HIS GAME 


lows get onto that and won’t stand for it. Just 
— just be natural !” 

“I guess I’m being natural,” answered Dud, with 
a smile, “and that is where the trouble is. I guess 
I’ll have to wait until next year. A lower middle 
fellow feels sort of fresh if he tries to mix in with 
upper middlers.” 

“Piffle! Lots of your class are thick as thieves 
with upper middle chaps. Look at young Whatshis- 
name — Stiles. He’s always traveling with upper 
middlers — Ordway and Blake and that bunch.” 

“Ned Stiles has more cheek than I have. Be- 
sides, I don’t think fellows like him particularly, 
Jimmy. He sort of toadies, doesn’t he?” 

“He’s a perfect ass, if you ask me. But they 
seem to stand for him.” 

“Well, but I don’t want to be ‘stood for’; I want 
fellows to — to want me.” 

“All right. Give ’em a chance then. You’re 
all right. Dud, only you’re shy. That’s what’s the 
matter with you, old chap, you’re just plain shy! 
Never thought of it before. Look here, now. I’ll 
tell you what you do. You forget all about your 
dear little self and get over being — being — gee, 
what’s the word I want? Being self-conscious! 
That’s it! That’s your trouble, self-consciousness.” 
Jimmy beamed approval at himself. “Best way to 
do it is to — to do it! Tell you what, we’ll make 

lO 


DUD WONDERS 


a start tonight, eh? Let’s go out and visit some- 
one. Who do you know that you’d like to know 
better?” 

“I’d like to know Hugh Ordway, for one,” said 
Dud hesitatingly. “But I guess he wouldn’t care 
about knowing me, and so ” 

“Stow it! That’s just what you mustn’t do, do 
you see? You mustn’t ‘wonder’ whether a fellow 
wants to know you or not. You just take it for 
granted that he does. Say to yourself, ‘I’m a good 
feller, a regular feller. I’m as good as you are. 
Of course you want to know me. Why not?’ See 
the idea?” 

Dud nodded doubtfully. “Still, Hugh Ordway’s 
a bit ” 

“A bit what?” demanded Jimmy impatiently. 

“I mean he’s awfully popular and has piles of 
friends and he wouldn’t be likely to — to want to 
know me.” 

“Oh, piffle! Ordway’s just like any of us — ex- 
cept that he happens to be English and have a 
Lord or a Duke or something for a father. I don’t 
know him very well myself, but that’s just because 
he trains with the football crowd — Blake and Wins- 
low and that bunch. But I know him plenty well 
enough to visit, and that’s just what we’ll do this 
evening. Dud.” 

“Maybe we’d better leave it for some other 
1 1 


WINNING HIS GAME 


night,” replied Dud uneasily. “I’ve got a lot of 

lessons tonight and ” 

“Ha, ha!” laughed Jimmy mirthlessly. “Where 
have I heard that before?” He pulled himself from 
his chair with a groan and pointed a stern finger 
at his chum. “You’ll start right in with me this 
very evening. Dud, and be a regular feller! And 
no more punk excuses, either! I’m going to take 
you in hand, son, and when I get through with 
you you won’t know yourself. Here, stop thatT 
“What?” asked Dud startledly. 

“You know what! You were beginning to won- 
der! I saw you! No more of that, understand? 
The first time I catch you wondering I’ll — I’ll take 
my belt to you!” 


CHAPTER II 


THE ENTERING WEDGE 

I F you have by any chance read a previous nar- 
rative of events at Grafton School entitled 
“Rivals for the Team” you are sufficiently ac- 
quainted with the scene of this story, and, also, 
with many of the characters. But since it is quite 
possible that you have never even heard of the 
former narrative, it devolves on the historian to 
introduce a certain amount of descriptive matter at 
about this stage, something he has as little taste 
for as have you. Descriptions are always tiresome, 
and so we’ll have this as short as possible. 

Grafton School, then, occupies a matter of ten 
acres a half-mile east of the town of that name 
and at the foot of the hill which is known as Mount 
Grafton. Like many another New England school, 
it is shaded by elms, boasts many fine expanses of 
velvety turf and, so to speak, laves its feet in a 
gently-flowing river. The buildings on the campus 
consist of three dormitories, the more venerable 
School Hall, the gymnasium and the Principal’s 
residence, and of these all save the two latter stretch 

13 


WINNING HIS GAME 


in a straight line across the middle of the three- 
acre expanse. The gymnasium is slightly back from 
the line and the Principal’s cottage is a bit in ad- : 
vance, its vine-covered porch looking along the 
fronts of the other buildings and its rear windows ' 
peering down into Crumbie Street. School Hall is 
in the center. Trow comes next on the left, and then | 
Lothrop. On the right of the older building stands 1 
Manning, which shelters the younger boys, and j 
somewhat “around the corner” is the gymnasium. 

Graveled walks lead across the campus, under ^ 
spreading elm trees, to Crumbie Street on one side, ' 
to River Street on the other, to School Street straight | 
in front. Beyond School Street is the Green, a-i 
block-wide parallelogram on which, at the corner 
of School and River Streets, two smaller dormi- 
tories stand. These, Morris and Fuller, are con- ■ 
verted dwellings of limited accommodations. The 
main walk from the steps of School Hall continues , 
across the Green to Front Street, beyond which, de-; 
scending gently to the Needham River, is Lothrop' 
Field. An ornamental wall and gate commem- 
orate the name of the giver. The Field House 
flanks the steps on the left and beyond lie the foot-^ 
ball gridirons, the baseball diamonds, the tennisl 
courts and the blue-gray cinder track. The distant " 
weather-stained building on the river bank is thej 
boathouse. . J 


14 


THE ENTERING WEDGE 


Grafton School looks after slightly over two hun- 
dred boys between the ages of twelve and twenty. 
At the time of which I am writing, February of 
last year, the number was, I believe, exactly two 
hundred and ten, of which some thirty-five had at- 
tained to the senior class and about eighty were 
juniors, leaving the upper middle and lower middle 
classes to share the residue fairly equally. The 
faculty numbered twelve, beginning with Doctor 
Duncan, the Principal, and ending with Mrs. Fair, 
the matron. Doctor Duncan’s full title is Charles 
William Duncan, A.M., Ph.D., but he is better 
known as “Charley” I There was — and doubtless 
are — also a Mrs. Duncan and a Miss Duncan, but 
they are not likely to enter into this narrative. So 
much then for our stage setting. I might keep 
on, but I fear you are weary, and I know I am! 

Hugh Ordway roomed on the top floor of Lo- 
throp, the newest and most luxurious of the dormi- 
tories, sharing the suite of study and two bedrooms 
with Bert Winslow. Hugh’s father was English 
and his mother American, and, although Hugh had 
been born on the other side and had spent most of 
his sixteen years there, he declared himself to be half 
American. His full name was Hugh Oswald Brod- 
wick Ordway, and in spite of the fact that by rea- 
son of his father being the Marquis of Lockely, 
Hugh had every right to the title of Earl of Ordway, 


WINNING HIS GAME 


he was generally known at Grafton as “Hobo,” a 
nickname evolved from his initials. As he was a 
straight, well-built, clear-skinned young chap with 
quiet brown eyes and an undeniable air of breeding, 
the nickname was amusingly incongruous if one 
stopped to consider it. But Hugh had been known 
as Hobo Ordway ever since fall, when his clever- 
ness as a running halfback on the first football team 
had surprised and delighted the school, and now- 
adays the name was too familiar to excite any com- 
ment. Hugh’s particular friends were more likely 
to call him “ ’Ighness,” however. 

It was Hugh, alone in the study, who responded 
to the knock at the door shortly after supper that, 
evening and who successfully disguised the surprise 
he felt when he recognized his visitors as Jimmy 
Logan and Dudley Baker. He made them welcome 
quite as heartily as though he had been expecting 
them all day, and Dud, who had hung back all the 
way up the three flights of slate stairs, was vastly 
relieved. The conversation skipped from one sub- 
ject to another for the first few minutes, during 
which time Hugh, perched on the window-seat, leav- 
ing the easy-chairs to his guests, hugged his knees 
to his chin, piloted the conversation and secretly 
wondered at the visit. 

You are not to suppose, however, that Hugh was 
the only one of the three at his ease. Such a sup- 
16 


THE ENTERING WEDGE 


position shows on your part a vast ignorance of 
Jimmy Logan. Jimmy was a stranger to embar- 
rassment. Had Hugh been the President of the 
United States or the King of England or — well, 
“Home Run” Baker, Jimmy would have been just 
as splendidly at ease as he was this moment. He 
might have assumed a more dignified attitude in the 
Morris chair and his voice might have held a more 
respectful tone, but beyond that — no, not Jimmy! 
Just now Jimmy was humorously recounting his 
skiing adventures that afternoon and Hugh was 
chuckling over them. Dud smiled when Hugh 
laughed, sitting rather stiffly in his chair, and tried 
his best to look animated and pleasant and only 
succeeded in looking anxious and uncomfortable. 
Jimmy did his best to get Dud to talk, but Dud’s 
conversation consisted largely of “Yes” and “No” 
and Hugh secretly thought him a bit of a stick. 
Jimmy was wondering whether to withdraw as grace- 
fully as possible before Dud created any worse im- 
pression when the door opened to admit a black- 
haired, dark-eyed fellow of seventeen who, with 
less command over his features than Hugh, looked 
frankly surprised when he saw who the visitors 
were. The surprise even extended to his voice as 
he greeted them. 

“Hello, Jimmy,” said Bert Winslow. “What 
are you doing up here? Haven’t seen you around 

17 


WINNING HIS GAME 


here for ages.” He spoke to Dud then, hesitating 
a moment as though not certain of the latter’s name. 
Dud, noting the fact, felt his embarrassment in- 
crease and wished that Jimmy would give the word 
to leave. But Jimmy had already abandoned 
thoughts of withdrawing. He liked Bert Winslow, 
just as most fellows did, and welcomed the chance 
to talk to him. Bert and Jimmy were both mem- 
bers of “Lit” — short for Literary Society — and only 
two evenings ago had been pitted against each other 
in one of the impromptu weekly debates and had 
struggled along nip and tuck until Jimmy, abandon- 
ing facts, had in a wild flow of rhetoric won the 
meeting. Bert alluded to it now as he tossed his 
cap through the open door of his bedroom. 

“Jimmy, that was a fine lot of hot air . you got 
off the other night,” he said with a grin. “Didn’t 
your folks ever teach you anything about the beau- 
ties of truthfulness?” 

Jimmy laughed. “Sure, but I had to beat you 
somehow, Bert. Besides, what I said may be so 
for all I know!” 

“Huh! You just said the first thing that came 
into that silly head of yours! Did you ever hear 
such a mess of rot as he sprang, Hugh?” 

Hugh smiled. “It sounded all right! Some of 
the figures were corking. You must have a won- 
derful memory, Logan!” 

i8 


THE ENTERING WEDGE 


“Memory!” snorted Bert, seating himself beside 
Hugh on the window-seat. “There wasn’t a figure 
that was right! I looked it up afterwards. Did 
you hear him, Baker? Oh, no, you’re Forum, aren’t 
you?” 

“Yes,” replied Dud. He tried very hard to fol- 
low that up with something brilliant or amusing 
in regard to Jimmy’s debating, but couldn’t think 
of anything, possibly because Bert’s tone had held 
some of the careless contempt with which members 
of a society spoke of its rival, and Dud wished 
just for the moment that he, too, was “Lit.” 

Perhaps Hugh thought that his chum had verged 
on discourtesy, for he observed quickly: “They 
tell me you chaps have some awfully good talkers 
in Forum, Baker.” -- 

Dud agreed. “I guess Joe Leslie is our best; 
he and Guy Murtha.” 

“Murtha’s better than Joe, I think,'” said Jimmy. 
“Anyway, he did a lot better last year in the de- 
bate with Mount Morris.” 

“Joe’s a wonder at hammering home facts,” said 
Bert. “Guy’s better at the eloquence stuff, though. 
Speaking of Guy, Hugh, reminds me that I told 
him you were going to try for the outfield this spring 
and he said he was mighty glad because if you 
could get on the base he was certain you could get 
around.” 


19 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“Oh, but I say, Bert, I don’t know that I shall I 
Try for baseball, I mean.” 

“Of course you will!” 

“But I don’t know much about it. You say it’s 
quite different from cricket, eh?” 

“Quite, ’Ighness! You’ve seen baseball played, 
haven’t you?” 

“Oh, yes, once or twice, but ” 

“I should think a fair cricket player would easily 
get the hang of baseball,” said Jimmy. “I guess 
it’s as hard to catch a cricket ball as a baseball, isn’t 
it? I suppose you’re a rattling good cricket player, 
Ordway.” 

“Oh, no, really I’m not,” exclaimed Hugh. “I’ve., 
played a bit at it, of course. You chaps bowl — I 
mean pitch to the batters so like thunder, don’t you ? 

I fancy I’ll be scared to stand up there, eh?” 

“You might if Gus Weston was pitching,” laughed 
Bert. “You going to play this year, Jimmy?” 

“Oh, I guess so. What would the dear old sec- 
ond do without me?” 

“Aren’t you trying for the first, though? You’re 
as good a fielder as Parker, I guess.” 

“I may. The fact is, Bert, I’m sort of used to 
the dear old second. It would be like leaving home 
to go to the first. Still, I may decide to break home 
ties and meet you fellows there.” 

“I fancy you’re not likely to meet me there,” 
20 


THE ENTERING WEDGE 


said Hugh. “I’ll be an awful dub if I try it, I know. 
Do you play, Baker?” 

“A little,” answered Dud. 

“Dud’s the coming Mathewson,” said Jimmy. 
“Got to watch him, we have. Some twirlerl” 

“Really?” asked Bert, evidently not much im- 
pressed. “That’s fine. Baker. The second rather 
needed pitchers last spring.” 

“He’s going out for the first,” said Jimmy. 

“Dud’s like me, you know. When Duty calls ” 

Jimmy smiled eloquently. 

“I say, though, Logan, who is this Johnnie you 
spoke of? Mathews, wasn’t it?” 

“Not Johnnie; Christopher,” replied Jimmy 
gravely. “I referred to Mr. Christopher Mathew- 
son, better known as ‘Matty,’ the Dean of Ameri- 
can Pitchers. Dud and ‘Matty’ are as thick as 
thieves; that is. Dud is! Dud reads everything 
‘Matty’ writes and can tell you off-hand how many 
games ‘Matty’ pitched last year and all the other 
years, and how many he won, and what his aver- 
ages are and all the rest of it. He has a gallery of 
Mathewson pictures and he’s the proud possessor 
of a ball that Mathewson used in a game with 
Philadelphia back in 1760 or thereabouts. I don’t 
know how he got that ball, but I suspect that he 
swiped it.” 

“It was given to me,” said Dud defensively. Then 


21 


WINNING HIS GAME 


he added, embarrassed: “You mustn’t mind what 
Jimmy says. He talks a lot of nonsense.” 

“I say, though,” exclaimed Hugh, “I do hope you 
get on the first, Baker. It must be a lot of fun to 
do the pitching, eh? More fun than fielding, I 
fancy.” 

“Have you pitched much?” inquired Bert po- 
litely. 

“I’ve been trying to for a couple of years,” an- 
swered Dud. “I don’t suppose I’ll make the first 
this year, of course, but Murtha said he’d be glad 
to have me try, and so ” 

“You must make allowances for his modesty,” 
said Jimmy. “He’s really rather a shark at it. He 
can tell you just how to pitch any ball ever discov- 
ered, from a straight one to a ‘floater.’ ” 

“Question is, I guess,” Bert laughed, “whether 
he can pitch ’em. I know how to pitch a ‘knuckle 
ball,’ but I can’t do it. I remember now. Baker, 
you pitched some on the second last year, didn’t 
you?” 

“Only three games, or parts of them, Winslow. 
I dare say I won’t be good enough this year, but — I 
thought I’d try.” 

“Of course,” said Bert heartily. “Nothing like; 
trying. The trouble is, though, you’ve got some 
good ones to stack up against, eh? There’s Nate 
Leddy and Ben Myatt ” 


22 


THE ENTERING WEDGE 


“And Gus Weston,” observed Jimmy gravely. 

Bert smiled. “Just the same, Gus has pitched 
some good games for us. But isn’t he a wonder 
when he goes up?” 

Jimmy chuckled. “Gus Weston can go up quicker 
and higher than any fellow I ever saw,” he said. 
“And when he is wild ” He ended with an im- 

pressive whistle. 

“He looked pretty promising last spring,” con- 
tinued Bert. “Remember the game he pitched 
against Middleboro ? They only got six hits off 
him, I think.” 

“Yes, and Kelly is another chap that is likely to 
make good this year,” said Jimmy. “Oh, we’re 
pretty well off for twirlers, but you wait until Dud 
gets going. And speaking of going, Dud, what do 
you say if we do a little of it?” 

“Don’t rush off,” said Bert. “Well, come around 
again, Jimmy.” 

Probably the invitation was meant to include Dud, 
but Hugh thought that Dud might not interpret it 
so and added cordially, “Yes, do, fellows!” 

On the way downstairs Jimmy said: “Well, we 
got out of that pretty well. Dud. I thought for 
a while you were going to spoil everything by mo- 
nopolizing the conversation the way you did, 
but ” 

“I don’t seem to know what to talk about,” said 

23 


WINNING HIS GAME 

Dud ruefully. “I guess Ordway thought me an 
awful ass.” 

“Well, he rather pointedly invited you to come 
back, so I don’t think you need to worry about 
that. The next time ” 

“There won’t be any next time,” interrupted the 
other. “It’s just like you said, Jimmy. I can’t mix 
and there’s no use trying.” 

“Oh, yes, there is! We’ve just started. That 
was the — the entering wedge, so to say. We’ll 
drop around again next week. And between now 
and then I’ll put you through a course of sprouts, 
old chap. We’ll mix in society. Just as soon as 
you can learn to forget your plaguey self. Dud, 
you’ll get on finely. The trouble is with you that 
you just sit and worry about what fellows are think- 
ing of you. But I’ll break you of that quick 
enough.” 

“I guess we’ll call it off,” muttered Dud. 

“And I guess we won’t,” was the firm response. 
“Having set my hand to the plow, Dudley, I never 
look back. That’s me. My full name is Grim De- 
termination. All others are impostors. Accept no 
substitutes. Guaranteed to comply with the Pure 
Food Law. After you. Dud. One flight and turn 
to the right, please.” 


CHAPTER III 


29 LOTHROP 

T rue to his promise — or threat, if you think 
with Dud — Jimmy haled his protesting 
friend from room to room in the evenings, 
made him join the throngs on the ice or the tobog- 
gan slide in the afternoons and on all occa- 
sions dragged him into the conversations and, to 
use his own expression, “got him in the spot-light.” 
It can’t be truthfully said that his efforts met with 
overwhelming success, however. Dud didn’t shine 
as a conversationalist or display any traits calcu- 
lated to win popularity. No one disliked him in the 
least. Most of the time few were really conscious 
of his presence, in spite of Jimmy’s untiring efforts. 
Personally, as has been suggested. Dud didn’t take 
kindly to being exhibited and exploited, and when 
a fortnight or so after the inception of the under- 
taking Jimmy actually got to telling jokes and credit- 
ing them to Dud, the latter was supremely uncom- 
fortable. Jimmy would chuckle and say: “Dud 
got off a good one the other day, fellows.” And 
then he would follow with some more or less bril- 

25 


WINNING HIS GAME 


Hant remark or joke that sounded to Dud horribly 
flat. Generally the hearers laughed and shot sur- 
prised glances at the silent and embarrassed Dud, 
but he didn’t win recognition as a wit or a sage for 
all of that. Had they heard the things from Dud 
first-hand they might have been more impressed. 
As it was the credit went rather to Jimmy than 
Dud. 

Jimmy played Boswell to Dud’s Doctor Johnson 
with remarkable enthusiasm and patience. He 
evolved all sorts of schemes, most of which his 
chum promptly refused to consider, designed to 
waft Dud into the white light of publicity. For in- 
stance, he conceived the brilliant idea of having Dud 
write a notable article for The Campus, the school 
monthly. Dud had no serious objection to that 
project, but it fell through because neither of them 
could think of a subject to write on. Then Jimmy 
suggested that Dud get someone to break through 
the ice on the river so Dud could rescue him. Jimmy 
said he would be glad to impersonate the drowning 
character if he wasn’t afraid of catching cold and 
having rheumatism in his throwing arm. It was 
all highly entertaining for Jimmy and he thoroughly 
enjoyed it, but Dud was getting very tired of it. 
Every now and then Jimmy had what he called a 
“show down.” At such times he would take a list 
from his drawer in the study table and check off 
26 


29 LOTHROP 


the names of fellows whose acquaintance Dud had 
succeeded in making since the last time. 

“Churchill, we got him. Check for Churchill. 
He was a brand new one, wasn’t he? Roy Dresser, 
check. Dresser was rather a success. Dud. I think 
he rather took to you. We must call there again. 
I’ll make a note of that. Dresser’s room is a good 
place to meet fellows. Parker, check. Parker’s an 
ass, anyway. Ayer — I say. Dud, we haven’t met 
Neil Ayer yet. Do you know him at all?” 

“Only to speak to.” 

“We’ll go after Ayer this evening, then. I know 
where to find him. He will be in Joe Leslie’s room, 
I guess. Foster Tray, check. Tray’s a good sort. 
Zanetti — that’s another chap we’ve missed. We’ll 
have to find him with Nate Leddy some time. I 
don’t know him at all. He’s a good fellow to know, 
though. Stands in with the football and the track 
crowds. I tell you what. Dud I Why not go out 
for the Track Team?” 

“Because I can’t do anything,” laughed Dud. 

“How do you know you can’t?” asked Jimmy, 
untroubled. “Besides, you wouldn’t have to really 
do anything. You could have a try at something 
and you’d meet a lot of fellows. Jumping isn’t 
awfully hard. Why not try the broad jump?” 

“I couldn’t do that and pitch too, you idiot.” 

“That’s so. I forgot. Still, some fellows do 
27 


WINNING HIS GAME 


go in for baseball and track. There’s Cherry, for 
Instance. Well, never mind. Maybe we’d better 
— er — concentrate.” Jimmy sat back and studied 
Dud speculatively, tapping his pen against his teeth 
the while. “What we’ve got to do. Dud,” he con- 
tinued presently, in the tones of one who has reached 
a weighty conclusion after much thought, “is to 
put It all over those other box artists. That’s our 
line. Dud. We’ve got to spring you as a startling 
phenomi Yes, sir, that’s the game!” 

“That’s all well enough, Jimmy, but suppose I 
can’t pitch a little bit when the time comes?” | 

“By Ginger, you’ve got to! Look here, you’re | 
wasting time. You ought to be at it every day. 
You ought to get down in the cage in the gym and 
practice. What time is it now? Nearly six, eh? 
Too late today, then. But tomorrow we’ll put In I 
a half-hour, and the next day, too, and right along 
until they call candidates. I’ll catch you. I’ll bor- ' 
row a mitt somewhere. It’ll be good fun, too. 
Practice for both of us. Great scheme, eh?” 

“Do you mind?” asked Dud eagerly. 

“Love to! We’ve got a week yet and you ought 
to be able to get a lot of practice in a week. That’s 
settled, then. But we mustn’t forget the — er — the 
social side of the campaign. So let’s see.” Jimmy , 
bent over his list again. “Quinn, check. Milford 

— had him before. Forbes ” i 

28 


29 LOTHROP 

The second visit to Hugh Ordway’s study came 
off right on schedule, nine days after the first call, 
but on this occasion Dud and Jimmy found the room 
jammed from door to windows with fellows and a 
loud and even violent argument going on. Their 
appearance went practically unnoticed and they 
found seats with some difficulty and became for 
a while silent listeners. The argument proved to 
be concerned with the election the evening before 
of one Starling Meyer as captain of the Hockey 
Team. The hockey team had just finished a dis- 
astrous season, ending with a second defeat by 
Grafton’s ancient rival. Mount Morris. Lack of 
hard ice had aided in the team’s demoralization, but 
besides that things had gone badly from start to 
finish, and there were many who credited the afore- 
mentioned Meyer with having been largely to 
blame. “Pop” Driver, who played right guard on 
the eleven and was normally good-natured to a fault, 
expressed the views of the anti-Meyer faction. 

“Meyer,” Pop was saying, “has caused more 
trouble all the winter than he’s worth. Everything 
that Tetter’s wanted to do one way. Star’s insisted 
on doing another. You fellows know that, all of 
you. Look at the way they changed the style of 
play in the middle of the season. Tetter started 
out playing four men on defense and it worked all 
right. Then Star got to saying that we weren’t 
29 


WINNING HIS GAME 

scoring enough points and that the four-men-back 
business was all wrong. He grouched and sulked 
about it until Yetter gave in to him. After that 
we got licked right along, with one or two excep- 
tions, and finally Yetter went back to the old style 
again, and Star threatened to quit and there was 
the dickens to pay for awhile. Star’s simply no use 
unless he can be the whole shooting-match.” 

“Well, they’ve made him captain,” said Jim 
Quinn, football manager, “so now he can show what 
he knows.” 

“There’s no sense in blaming everything on Star 
Meyer,” declared Ned Musgrave. “Yetter’s a 
good chap, but he hadn’t any business being cap- 
tain. There’s where the whole trouble began. If 
Yetter ” 

“Warren would have been all right,” said Bert 
Winslow, “if Star had let him alone. But Star 
hates to see anyone else have any say about any- 
thing. He’s a peach of a hockey player. I’ll grant 
you that, but he’s a peach of a trouble-maker, too. 
And I’ll bet you anything things will be in a worse 
mess next year than they were this.” 

“Why didn’t they elect Gus Weston?” asked Roy 
Dresser. “Gus would have made a dandy leader.” 

“Because Star pulled all the strings he could,” 
answered Pop, “and scared the fellows into voting 
for him.” 


30 


29 LOTHROP 


“I happen to know, Pop,” interposed Musgrave 
warmly, “that more than three-fourths of the team 
wanted Star for captain long before election. You 
might as well be fair to him. Pop. Give him a show. 
Don’t convict a fellow before he’s tried, I say I” 

“All right, Ned,” answered Pop good-naturedly. 
“We’ll let him have his trial. Maybe you’re right, 
too. Star may make a better captain than he did 
a first lieutenant. Let’s hope so. I won’t be here 
to see, though.” 

“What makes you think so?” inquired Nick Blake 
maliciously, raising a laugh at Driver’s expense. 
Pop, as he himself put it, was doing the four-year 
course in five, and there was always some doubt 
as to his getting through in five. Pop grinned now 
and shook his head. 

“They’ll give me my diploma to get rid of me, 
Nick,” he said. 

Jimmy, who had remained quiescent until now, 
took advantage of a momentary lull in the discus- 
sion and chuckled. Pop, beside him, turned in- 
quiringly. “What’s on your mind, Jimmy?” he in- 
quired. 

“I was just thinking of something Dud got off 
awhile ago,” replied Jimmy, still visibly amused. 
Dud threw an entreating look at him, but Jimmy pre- 
tended not to see it. 

“Dud who?” asked Pop. 

31 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“Dud Baker, over here.” Jimmy’s glance indi- 
cated his friend. “We were talking about the 
hockey team losing so many games one day and 
Dud said he guessed the trouble with them” — 
Jimmy had managed to gain the attention of 
the room by now — ^“was that they were weak from 
Star-vation!” 

Dud looked anything but like the author of the 
bonmot at that moment, but the audience laughed, 
even Ned Musgrave, and Jimmy credited himself 
with a bull’s-eye. 

“The pun,” observed Nick Blake gravely, “is 
considered the lowest form of humor.” 

“I think that’s mighty clever,” exclaimed Hugh. 
“You’re hipped because you didn’t think of it your- 
self, Nick.” 

“Dry up ,’Ighness ! I was about to say when you 
so rudely interrupted that it is, of course, necessary 
to consider one’s audience, and that, having the 
mentality of the audience in mind. Baker’s joke may 
be considered clever, even brilliant. For my 
part ” 

“Choke him, somebody,” said Bert. “After all, 
say what you like about Star, you’ve got to acknowl- 
edge that there’s much to ad-Meyer about ” 

But Nick’s groan of anguish drowned the rest, 
and Dresser, pretending disgust, arose to depart, 
setting the example for several others. Jimmy, fear- 
32 


29 LOTHROP 

ing that Dud’s gloomy silence might undo the ef- 
fect created by the joke, thought the moment a good 
one for retiring and led his chum away. Out- 
side, Dud remonstrated again. 

“I wish you wouldn’t, Jimmy,” he said. “I feel 
such an awful fool when you spring those jokes 
and tell fellows I made ’em. They must know I 
didn’t!” 

“Why? You do say things as good as that, don’t 
you? When there’s no one but me around, I 
mean.” 

“I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t think that was 
awfully funny, anyway, Jimmy.” 

Jimmy chuckled. “I do. And the others did. 
Cheer up. Dud. I’ll make a celebrity of you in 
spite of yourself!” 

Later, back in Number 29 Lothrop, Bert Wins- 
low laughed suddenly while he was getting ready 
for bed and Hugh, hearing, called across from his 
own bedroom. 

“What’s the joke, Bert?” 

“I was thinking of the one Jimmy Logan sprung; 
about the hockey team being weak from Star-vation. 
It isn’t so bad, eh?” 

“Rather clever, but it was that chap Baker who 
said it, wasn’t it?” 

“I guess so. But look here,” continued Bert, ap- 
pearing in his doorway in the course of a struggle 
33 


WINNING HIS GAME 


with his collar, “why is it Baker never gets off any 
of those things himself? It’s always Jimmy Logan 
who springs ’em. All Baker does is to sit and look i 
glum. If he’s so all-fired clever why doesn’t he say 
something once in a while? I think he’s a bit of 
a pill.” 

“He’s not so bad, I fancy,” replied Hugh, j 
“Maybe you have to know him. Some chaps are I 
like that, if you know what I mean.” < 

“Yes, but ” Bert’s voice died out until he had ^ 

at last wrenched the refractory collar from his j 
neck. Then: “Here’s another funny thing, Hugh,” 
he said. “Jimmy lugs that fellow around every . 
place with him; sort of butts in with him every- i 
where. You’d think Jimmy was a — a nurse-maid -m 
or something. Looks to me as if he was trying to ® 
introduce his young friend into Society. I wouldn’t S 
care a bit if he forgot to bring him up here theffl 
next time.” j 

“What have you got against him?” inquired® 
Hugh. I 

“Nothing much. He’s only a lower middler,| 
though, and lower middlers ought to keep to their. 
own set. Besides, look at the cheek of the kidlj 
Going to try for pitcher on the first I What do_ 
you know about that?” | 

“But if he’s really any good at it,” began the 


29 LOTHROP 

“How could he be? He can’t be more than fif- 
teen, I guess.” 

“You were young once yourself, old chap.” 

“Yes, but I didn’t try to pitch on the first team,” 
grumbled Bert. “He’s too fresh.” 

“I’ll tell you just what’s the matter with him,” 
said Hugh, appearing in the study in a suit of pink- 
striped pajamas. “He’s shy, Bert.” 

“Shy! And going out for the first nine!” 

“I know it doesn’t look so,” laughed Hugh, “but 
that’s just what his trouble is, and I rather fancy 
that Logan, out of pure kindness, is trying to bring 
him out, if you know what ” 

“Pure kindness!” scoffed Bert. “Jimmy’s kind 
enough, I guess, but if that’s his game you can bet 
all you’ve got that he’s doing it for a lark. I know 
Jimmy!” 


CHAPTER IV 


A CHANCE MEETING 

T WO days after the visit to Hugh Ordway’s 
room Jimmy Logan’s joke which he had 
attributed to Dud bore unexpected fruit. 
The remark had tickled the fellows who had heard 
it and consequently they very promptly repeated it, 
with the natural result that within twenty-four hours 
it got around to Starling Meyer himself. Star, as' 
he was generally called, was a large, good-looking 
boy of seventeen, well supplied with self-conceit. 
He was a rattling good hockey player, undoubtedly 
the best in school, and a fair performer with the 
second nine in the outfield. There his athletic 
prowess ended, for he considered — or pretended to 
consider — track sports unimportant and football un- 
scientific. He was a clever student and stood high 
in class, and was, in consequence, rather a favorite 
with the faculty. As a member of the Forum So- i 
ciety his activities were critical rather than construe-*! 
tive, for he took no part in the debates beyond at- 
tending them and pointing out the deficiencies of the 
debaters in a superior manner. Most fellows liked 

36 


A CHANCE MEETING 


him, especially those who were not clever in the 
lines he affected, and even those who saw through 
his poses and couldn’t stand his conceit accorded 
him honor for his brilliancy in class-room and on 
the ice. Although Star roomed next door to Dud, 
the latter knew him only as he knew three-fourths 
of the students, that is, to nod to on passing. Once 
or twice, since they had both been rather unim- 
portant members of the second baseball team last 
year, they had spoken. But beyond that they were 
strangers, and so when, two days after that visit 
to 29 Lothrop, Star Meyer stopped Dud in front 
of Trow by the simple but effective method of seiz- 
ing him by the arm. Dud was somewhat surprised. 
Star was scowling and Dud didn’t need more than 
one glance at his face to realize that he was angry. 
Even when angry, however. Star didn’t allow him- 
self to forget his pose of contemptuous superiority, 
and now when he spoke he managed a one-sided 
smile designed to remind Dud of the honor being 
done him. 

“Baker, you’re a remarkably fresh young kid,” 
began Star, “and some day that mouth of yours 
is going to get you into a heap of trouble. Ever 
think of that?” 

Dud, puzzled, moved restively in the bigger boy’s 
grasp but failed to get free. “I don’t know what 
you mean, Meyer,” he protested. 

37 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“Yes, you do. What’s the good of lying? After 
this you leave my name out of your funny jokes; 
hear?” 

“I don’t know what ” began Dud again. 

Then recollection of Jimmy’s bon-mot came to him 
and he flushed. 

“The next time I’ll kick you from here to the 
river,” said Star in a quietly venomous tone. “I’d 
do it now for a couple of buttons, too. You leave 
my name strictly alone. Baker, after this. Under- 
stand me?” 

“Yes, but honest, Meyer, I didn’t say ” 

Then, however. Dud had to stop, for, although in- 
nocent, to insist on the fact would put the blame " 
on Jimmy. He dropped his eyes. “All right,” he 
muttered. 

Somehow that phrase seemed to add fresh fuel 
to Star’s smoldering anger, for he took a fresh 
and very painful grip on Dud’s arm and said: “All 
right, is it? Well, it isn’t all right, kid! You’re 
a sneaky little bounder, that’s what you are I Say- l 
ing smart-alick things and then trying to lie out | 
of it! Don’t you ever mention my name again. If j 
you do I’ll get you and you won’t forget it in a 
hurry. Now you beat it!” 

With a sudden wrench at the captive arm. Star 
spun Dud around and aimed a kick at him. For-J 
tunately, a premonition of what was happening | 

38 



“ ‘You’re a sneaky little bounder, that’s what you are!’ ” 


A CHANCE MEETING 


caused Dud to jump aside and Star’s foot missed 
its goal. Dud, angry himself now, turned with 
clenched fists and flashing eyes. But the situation 
was distinctly hopeless. Star topped him by a head 
and Dud was suddenly conscious of his own physical 
inferiority. Still he might have tried conclusions 
had it not been for the smile of haughty contempt 
on the other’s countenance. Somehow that smile 
was too much. It seemed to say: “What, you dare 
to show disrespect to me? Begone, impious mor- 
tal!” Dud’s fingers straightened again, he gulped 
down his resentment, stole a doubtful glance at a 
group of fellows who were looking on curiously from 
the dormitory steps and walked away, trying his best 
to appear dignified and unconcerned but secretly 
feeling like a whipped cur. Later, when he re- 
counted the episode to Jimmy the latter took him 
to task vigorously. 

“Why didn’t you tell him you didn’t say it? I’m 
not afraid of the big fraud!” 

“Considering you’d told everyone that I had said 
it ” 

“Yes, that’s so.” Jimmy frowned mightily. 
“Well, then, why didn’t you light into him? Don’t 
you see that the fellows who were watching you 
will think you were afraid of him?” 

“I wanted to, but — but somehow he looked so — 
so sort of superior ” 


39 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“Yah! That’s Star’s best bluff! Bet you any- 
thing if you’d hit him just one little tap on the nose 
he’d have run! Hang it, Dud, you’ve got to play 
up, boy! Here I am making you out a regular 
feller, and the first chance you get to — to put your- 
self in the lime-light you fall down ! Why, you had 
the finest sort of an opportunity to distinguish your- 
self! Think what it would have meant to you, 
Dud! Fellows would have said: ‘What do you 
know about young Baker licking Star Meyer 
right in front of Trow this morning? Had it all 
over him, they say! Beat him something brutal! 
Some class to that kid, eh?’ That’s the way 
they’d have talked you up. Now you’ve gone 
and ” 

“Don’t be an ass,” begged Dud with spirit. 
“You know plaguey well I couldn’t lick Star. He’s 
six inches taller than I am, and he’s at least seven- 
teen years old, and he’s — he’s stronger ” 

“Son, when you get in a row with another ciiap,” 
replied Jimmy emphatically, “don’t you stop to fig- 
ure out how much bigger or stronger he is. You 
jump in and get the first lick at him. You’ll be 
surprised to find what a lot of inches that first whack 
takes off the other chap ! What you should have 
done ” 

“Well, I didn’t,” said Dud shortly. “You 
wouldn’t have, either, I guess.” 

40 


A CHANCE MEETING 


Jimmy grinned. “Never mind what Ed have 
done, Dud. Em not making a name for myself. 
Tm not ’’ 

“Neither am I. You are. And Em getting sick 
of it. It’s no use, anyway. Let’s drop it.” 

“Drop nothing,” replied Jimmy vigorously. 
“We’re getting on famously. Why ” 

“You’ve just said Eve queered myself!” 

“I said you’d missed a chance to make a hit. So 
you have. But we can fix that all right. Those 
fellows who saw it will talk, I guess, but we can 
talk too. Who were they?” 

“I don’t know. Stiles was one, though.” 

“The sweetest little gossip in school,” commented 
Jimmy. “All right. Dud, you leave it to me. Your 
Uncle James will fix it all hunky for you. You sit 
tight and — yes, that’s the game! Dud, you must 
go around looking very dignified for a couple of 
days.” 

“Rot!” 

“I mean it. You must make fellows think that 
you resisted a great temptation and that it has — er 
— has sobered you. Get me?” 

“What temptation?” asked Dud, puzzled. 

“Why, the temptation to lose your temper and 
beat Star up, of course,” explained Jimmy patiently. 
“That’s our line, don’t you see? It was only by — 
by superhuman control that you manfully resisted 

41 


WINNING HIS GAME 

the impulse to fell him to the ground! Great stuff, 
what? You just wait till I tell it!” 

“Jimmy, for the love of lemons don’t start any- 
thing else ! Every time you get to talking you put 
me in a hole. You’ve got fellows thinking I’m a 
wit, and they all look at me in a funny sort of a 
way as if they were waiting for me to spring some- 
thing bright, and I get tongue-tied and can’t think 
of a thing to say. And you’re telling it around that 
I’m going to be a wonderful pitcher, too. They 
don’t believe that, of course, but it makes me look 
silly. And now you want to make me out a — a 
scrapper^ ” 

“Not at all, not at all! Star resented your re- 
mark about him and spoke insultingly to you. You 
gave him a beautiful calling down and he didn’t 
dare talk back. Then, when your back was turned, 
he tried to kick you, and you, stifling your — er — 
your natural and excusable indignation^ kept your 
temper wonderfully and walked superbly away. All 
through the encounter your dignity was sublime!” 

Dud groaned. “You’ll simply make me out an 
awful ass and fellows will laugh at you — and me. 
I wish you wouldn’t, Jimmy!” 

“That remark merely shows how little you ap- 
preciate my powers of diplomacy,” replied the other 
in tones of sorrowful resignation. “But never 
mind. I shall continue to do my best for you, Dud, 
42 


A CHANCE MEETING 


even though my efforts are unappreciated, misun- 
derstood. Leave it all to me, my young friend. 
Appear very dignified and — and aloof. Let’s see 
you look aloof. Dud.” 

Dud only looked disgusted. 

“Not a bit like it,” resumed the other cheerfully. 
“More like this. Get it? Sort of hinting at a 
secret sorrow or — no, that’s not exactly the idea, 
either. You want to look like the hero in the second 
act of the play, when everyone thinks he stole the 
jewels and the heroine spurns him. He knows that 
he’s innocent, you see, and knows that the audience 
will know it in the last act. So he just looks dis- 
dainful and a bit sad and sort of moons around by 
himself and smokes a good deal to salve his sor- 


“I can’t smoke,” interrupted Dud practically. 
“They won’t let me, and I don’t like it anyway.” 

Jimmy waved his hand airily. “You get the idea, 
though. Dud. ‘Too proud to fight’ is your line, old 
chap. Now shut up and let me think.” 

Jimmy’s thinking resulted in action. That after- 
noon about four he might have been observed linger- 
ing idly in front of School Hall, hands in pockets, 
whistling tunelessly, evidently quite at a loose end. 
Nick Blake tried to entice him up to Lit to play 
pool, Gus Weston suggested the joys of a trip to 
the village for hot soda and Pete Gordon strove 
43 


WINNING HIS GAME 


to lure him to his room. Jimmy resisted heroically 
and was left to his devices. It was a particularly 
disagreeable afternoon, with a hard wind freezing 
the pools along the walk, and Jimmy from time to 
time glanced impatiently at the big doors behind him. 
But it was nearly the half-hour before they finally 
opened again to emit Ned Stiles. Warned by the 
creaking of the portal, Jimmy instantly assumed the 
appearance of one who, passing, has his attention 
attracted by the sound of an opening door. This 
in the face of the fact that he had been all along 
aware that Stiles, in trouble with Mr. Gibbs, the 
history instructor, had been having an after-school 
seance with “Gusty” in a classroom. Stiles was an 
upper middler, seventeen years old, an uninteresting 
and rather sycophantic youth whom Jimmy secretly 
disliked very much. Stiles suspected the fact and 
was consequently somewhat surprised when Jimmy, 
after nodding briefly, halted and awaited him at the 
foot of the steps. 

“Hello, Stiles. Rotten day, isn’t it? Seen Guy 
Murtha lately?” 

Stiles shook his head, changing his books from 
one elbow to the other in order to reach his hand- 
kerchief and blow a very red nose. Stiles always 
had a cold in winter and snuffled from October to 
April. 

“Can’t find him anywhere,” continued Jimmy in 
44 


A CHANCE MEETING 

preoccupied tones, accommodating his steps to those 
of the other boy and continuing on toward Trow. 
“Star Meyer said he thought he’d gone to the vil- 
lage. I want to see him awfully.” 

“I haven’t seen him all day, I guess,” said Stiles. 
He was hoping that some of the fellows would look 
from their windows and see him hob-nobbing with 
Jimmy. 

“Well, I guess I can get him at supper,” said the 
latter. Then he chuckled, and, in response to Stiles’ 
unspoken question, explained, “I was thinking of 
Star. He hasn’t got over it yet, I guess. Grumpy 
as anything he was.” 

“Got over what?” asked Stiles eagerly. 

“Didn’t you hear about it?” Jimmy looked at 
him incredulously. “Why, Dud Baker gave him an 
awful calling down this morning and Star took 
it like a lamb. Say, that kid certainly has got 
spunk I” 

Stiles viewed the other suspiciously, but Jimmy’s 
countenance expressed truth and quiet amusement. 
Stiles grunted. Then he said “Huh!” doubtfully 

“Star was mad as a hornet about something Dud 
said; some joke or other, you know.” 

Stiles nodded. “Yes, about the hockey team dy- 
ing of Star-vation.” 

“Was that it? Well, anyway, he got after Dud 
and wanted Dud to apologize and Dud told him to 
45 


WINNING HIS GAME 


chase himself, that it was all true and that every 
fellow in school knew it, and a lot more. And Star 
was mad enough to bite! Think of Dud getting 
away with it!” 

“I saw it,” said Stiles, “but it didn’t look — just 
like that to me. Star had Baker by the arm and it 
looked like he was reading the riot act to him. And 
then he tried to kick him and Baker beat it.” 

“Good thing for Star he did, then,” said Jimmy 
knowingly. “I’d hate to stand up to Dud Baker 
when he was riled!” 

“I didn’t know he was — that sort,” said Stiles in- 
terestedly. They had reached the entrance to Trow 
and paused at the door. 

“Dud Baker? Didn’t you ever hear why he left 
the school he was at before he came here?” 

Stiles shook his head. 

“Well, it isn’t a nice story to tell, although it 
wasn’t all Dud’s fault. I heard it from a fellow 
who was there and saw it. In fact, he helped to 
carry the other fellow to his room. He was three 
years older than Dud and a whole head taller, too, 
they say. But Dud isn’t the sort of fellow you can 
bully. Or he wasn’t. Nowadays Dud will stand a 
lot. I guess after that fracas he learned to keep 
his temper. The other fellow was in bed a month. 
It was such a close shave for him that it sort of 
sobered Dud up and he will go most any length 

46 


A CHANCE MEETING 


now to keep from scrapping. He’s got an awful 
punch, they say.” 

Stiles looked vastly amazed, but Jimmy, glancing 
from the corners of his eyes, saw to his satisfac- 
tion that there was no incredulity in the amaze- 
ment. Stiles had swallowed the yarn whole and 
was gasping for more. But Jimmy knew the value 
of silence. 

“Well, I guess I’ll run over to Lothrop. If you 
should see Guy you might tell him I’m looking for 
him. So long.” 

“But, look here, Logan,” called Stiles eagerly; 
“what was it Baker said to Star, eh?” 

“Oh, I don’t know just what he told him, but it 
was aplenty. And Star took it, too!” 

“But he — he kicked Baker! We saw him!” 

“Never!” replied Jimmy vehemently. “He may 
have kicked at him. In fact, some fellow told me 
he did aim a kick at Dud when Dud’s back was 
turned. Said Dud turned like a tiger on him then 
and he thought sure it was all up with Star. But 
Dud controlled himself and walked quietly away. 
Gee, I couldn’t have done that, Stiles! It must 
have been great to see, wasn’t it?” 

“Why — er — ^yes, only ” Stiles paused. “It 

looked to us as if Baker was scared, Logan. Of 
course he wasn’t, but that’s what it looked like. I 
didn’t know he was such a scrapper.” 

47 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“Who, Dud?” Jimmy spread his hands ex- 
pressively. “Take my advice, old man, and don’t 
let him hear you say he looked scared, though 
maybe he wouldn’t touch you. And then again he 

might lose control of that temper of his and 

Better not risk it, I guess.” 

“I wouldn’t think of it,” said Stiles earnestly. “I 
didn’t really think he was scared, you know; only 
some of the other fellows who saw it said it looked 
that way. Don’t tell Dud Baker I said that, will 
you?” 

“Me? No indeed. In fact, I wouldn’t mention 
the thing to him at any price. He’s awfully 
touchy, you see, and ever since this morning he’s 
been sort of like a bear with a sore head. I guess 
there’s times when he wishes he’d forgotten him- 
self and let fly! Well, so long!” 

Jimmy walked on toward Lothrop and Ned 
Stiles plunged through the door and hurried down 
the corridor to leave his books and then spread his 
news to all who would hearken to it. And Jimmy, 
approaching the first entrance to Lothrop Hall, 
winked gravely at the ornamental brass knocker. 


CHAPTER V 


DUD LOSES HIS TEMPER 

W INTER,” observed Jimmy very disgust- 
edly one morning toward the last of Feb- 
ruary, “is sure ‘lingering in the lap of 
spring,’ as the poet hath it. Between you and 
me, Dud, I guess winter’s fallen asleep there I 
Here it is almost March and everything’s still 
covered up with snow or ice. Or water,” he 
added a second later, his gaze falling to the pools 
of melting snow that lay in the hollows of the 
campus. 

The windows were wide open and the air that 
came in, while chill and damp, still, somehow, held 
a suggestion — or perhaps a faint promise — of 
spring. But the sky was leaden, between the walks 
the sod was hidden under patches of dirty snow 
or ice that had begun to melt a little and the whole 
morning world had a tired and bedraggled look. 
Jimmy, still attired in pajamas, shivered and turned 
disapprovingly away. Then his gaze fell on Dud 
and the disapproval increased, for Dud, half awake 
a moment before, had nestled down on the 
49 


WINNING HIS GAME 


rumpled pillow again and was sleeping peacefully. 
Jimmy was righteously indignant. 

“Wake up, you sluggard I” he bawled, pulling the 
clothes from the other. “Here I’ve been talking 
to you for five minutes, saying perfectly gorgeous 
things, and you haven’t heard a word! Get up, 
you lazy loafer, and hear the birdies sing — or 
sneeze! Come out of there!” 

Dud came out, rather in a heap, blinking con- 
fusedly, and strove to pull the clothes from the bed 
to his shrinking form on the floor. But Jimmy was 
merciless, and Dud was forced to arise grumblingly 
and rub his sleepy eyes. 

“Wh — what time is it?” he yawned. 

“Never mind what time it is,” replied Jimmy se- 
verely. “It’s time you were up and doing ” 

“ ‘With a heart for any fate,’ ” murmured Dud 
poetically if sleepily. “What day is it?” 

“Great Jumpin’ Jehosophat!” exclaimed Jimmy. 
“He doesn’t even know the date ! It’s a Tuesday, 
darling, and the month’s February, and the year 


“Then it’s today practice begins,” said Dud. “I 
knew there was something.” He arose and sought 
his bath robe. “I’ll bet it’s awfully early. I don’t 
hear anyone up.” 

“You hear me up,” responded his roommate. 
“As a matter of fact, I don’t know just what time 

50 


DUD LOSES HIS TEMPER 


it is, because you forgot to wind the clock and my 
watch has stopped and I couldn’t find yours. But 
it must be long after six ” 

“Six!” grunted Dud in deep disgust. “What do 
you go pulling me out of bed at six for? I’m going 
back again!” 

“I said it was long after six. Where’s your 
watch? Have a look at it.” 

Dud discovered that article at last dangling over 
the back of a chair, it having escaped from a pocket, 
and in more mollified tones informed Jimmy that 
it was twenty to seven. In the corridor a door 
opened and slippered feet pattered toward the bath- 
room. Jimmy set his watch and the clock, found 
his own robe and then, pausing at the door, asked 
solicitously : 

“How’s the old arm. Dud?” 

“Sore,” was the answer. Dud bent it and flexed 
it — it was his right one — and observed it scowlingly. 
“It’s lame all the way to the shoulder. Ouch! And 
the shoulder’s lame, too!” 

“Too bad,” said Jimmy. “I was afraid you 
might overdo it. Dud.” 

“Well, whose silly idea was it, anyway?” de- 
manded Dud indignantly. “Who suggested prac- 
ticing every day. I’d just like to know?” 

“I did, of course, but I didn’t tell you to do too 
much of it and lame yourself, did I ? What you’ve 

51 


WINNING HIS GAME 


gone and done, Dud, is catch cold iii it. You ought 
to be mighty careful that way. You ought ” 

“Oh, dry up,” grumbled Dud. “You make me 
tired. If you know so pesky much about it, why 
didn’t you say something before? I wouldn’t have 
caught cold in it if you hadn’t insisted on slopping 
around in that rink yesterday with the water up to 
your ankles! No wonder I caught cold!” 

“Well, you’ll have to lay off a few days, old chap. 
It’ll be all right again, I guess.” 

“That’s fine, isn’t it, when I’ve got to report for 
practice this afternoon?” 

“You won’t have to pitch, though,” responded 
Jimmy consolingly. “Just do the setting-up stuff. 
Come on and get your bath.” 

“I don’t want any bath,” muttered Dud, still feel- 
ing of his pitching arm with cautious fingers. “You 
go ahead.” 

“Dud,” said the other severely, “you’ve got a 
grouch. You must have got out of bed the wrong 
way.” 

“I did, when you pulled me out,” was the pointed 
reply. “And who wouldn’t have a grouch. I’d like 
to know? I’ll have a fat chance to do any pitching, 
won’t I?” 

“You can tell ’em you lamed yourself, can’t you? 
Cheer up. Dud, and come ahead before the crowd 
gathers. I’ll rub it for you when we get back.” 

52 


DUD LOSES HIS TEMPER 

“Huh! I guess that’s what’s the matter with It 
now. You nearly killed me last night with your old 
massaging, as you called it.” 

“It may hurt a little,” said Jimmy earnestly, “but 
it’s awfully good for you. It’s regular Swedish stuff, 
Dud. I learned it from a chap at home who works 
in the gym. We ought to have some liniment, 
though. I wonder if that liquid dentifrice stuff of 
yours would do.” 

“I’ll do my own rubbing, thanks,” replied the 
other ungraciously. “If it hadn’t been for you 


“Help I” wailed Jimmy, hurrying through the 
door. Then came the sound of quick scurrying in 
the corridor, and Dud, still mooning on the side of 
the bed, guessed that Jimmy and some other chap 
were racing for a bathtub. Dud hoped the other 
fellow would win. He continued to explore the 
lamed muscles of his arm for several minutes, find- 
ing a grim satisfaction in the twinges of pain he 
evoked. Finally, however, he slung the cords of 
his bath-robe together and dejectedly followed the 
others down the corridor. As luck would have it, 
three other youths were awaiting their turns at the 
tubs, while Starling Meyer reached the washroom 
at the same moment Dud did. Star fixed a haughty 
and scornful glare on the younger boy. 

“I’m ahead of you,” he announced briefly. 

53 


WINNING HIS GAME 


Most any other time Dud would have acquiesced 
without a murmur, but this morning his peevishness 
made him combative and courageous. “Like fun 
you are,” he replied scowlingly. 

A perceptible thrill went through the other mem- 
bers of the waiting group. Dud Baker and Star 
Meyer were going to have a scrap ! They had heard 
of Dud’s fighting reputation, and now they were to 
witness an example of that youth’s quality I They 
almost held their breaths in the excitement, their 
round eyes traveling from Star to Dud and back 
again expectantly. Star frowned portentously. 

“We’ll see,” he remarked coldly. 

“You bet we’ll see,” agreed Dud, a strange reck- 
lessness taking possession of him. Somehow this 
morning Star didn’t look nearly so formidable, per- 
haps because his eyes were still heavy with sleep or 
because the flaming red bath-robe in which he was 
enveloped was so palpable an affront to good taste. 
Star stared an instant in perplexed surprise and then 
deliberately turned his gaze away from Dud’s pug- 
nacious countenance, indicating contempt and scorn 
and several other things that riled Dud still further. 
From the cubicles holding the tubs came the rush 
and splash of water and the voices of the bathers. 
No healthy boy ever bathed silently, and the four 
in the tubs were, judging from the sounds, remark- 
ably robust! Jimmy was chanting a football paean 
54 


DUD LOSES HIS TEMPER 


at the top of his lungs, another boy was singing 
something remarkably tuneless and repetitional and 
the other two were exchanging badinage across the 
partition at the tops of their voices. 

After a moment one of the doors opened, a very 
pink-hued youth emerged and it was the turn of one 
of the interested trio. Oddly enough the latter 
showed a strange disinclination to avail himself of 
his prerogative. Instead he offered in a whisper 
to let one of the others precede him. But the reply 
was a shake of the head, the boy not even removing 
his fascinated gaze from Dud. 

There was nothing for it but to go then, and the 
youth went, disappearing behind the door most re- 
luctantly. Star moved impatiently from one foot 
to the other. “You fellows in there, get a move 
on,” he advised loudly. “WeVe been waiting here 
ten minutes.” 

“Keep on waiting, old chap,” replied Jimmy, in- 
terrupting his song. “Don’t know who you are, 
but you’re an awful fibber. I say. Dud, are you 
there?” 

“Yes,” growled Dud. 

“Hand me a piece of soap from the stand, will 
you?” 

Dud wanted to say no, but thought better of it 
and ungraciously crossed the washroom and secured 
a cake of soap. “Catch,” he called. 

55 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“Stop it !’* squealed Jimmy. “Don’t chuck! Here, 
pass it in.” The door opened a bit and Jimmy’s 
face appeared in the slit. “Squeeze in,” he whis- 
pered. “I’m through.” 

Dud thrust the door open and entered, and 
Jimmy quickly bolted it again. “Who’s out there?” 
he whispered. But before Dud could inform him 
Star Meyer’s voice was raised in indignant pro- 
test. 

“You can’t do that, Logan! It isn’t Baker’s turn. 
There are three of us ahead of him. You come out 
of there, Baker !” 

“I only took half a bath. Star,” replied Jimmy ' 
amiably. “I’m letting Dud have the other half.” 

“Yes, you are! No funny business now! Here, j 
Benson, it’s your turn. Go ahead in. They can’t 
do that.” 

Benson, a slim, unaggressive youth, stared at Star 
in alarm. “I — I’m in no hurry, thanks, Meyer. ^ 
I — I’d just as lief wait, thanks.” 1 

“Then you, whatever your name is, it’s your ^ 
tub!” 1 

The second boy shook his head and grinned. “I I 
don’t like that one,” he replied diplomatically. “The i 
plug leaks. I’ll wait.” 

Star scowled and looked doubtfully at the closed J 
door. For some reason intense quiet prevailed. 1 

Not a splash was heard. “Then if you fellows won’t j 

56 ^ 


DUD LOSES HIS TEMPER 


take it,’’ he said resolutely, “it’s my turn. That’s 
my tub. Baker. You’d better come out of there.” 

“I’ll be out when I’ve had my bath,” was the 
truculent reply, followed by a sound very much like 
that caused by a hand descending approvingly on a 
bare shoulder. Star strode across and rattled the 
door, but the only response was the gurgling of 
water as the plug was withdrawn. 

“I’ll report you to Mr. Gibbs,” announced Star 
loftily. “You’re supposed to take your turn. You’d 
better let me in there.” 

Just then the door opened and Jimmy came out. 
Star drew back a step and Dud quickly shot the bolt 
again. Jimmy smiled sweetly and carelessly at Star. 
“Don’t be a grouch, old man,” he said. “There’s 
lots of water yet.” 

Star fell back on his haughty attitude and ob- 
served Jimmy as from Olympian heights. Jimmy 
chuckled. “Great stuff. Star,” he approved. Then 
he nodded affably to the round-eyed Benson and 
took himself gracefully from sight. At that moment 
another cubicle emptied itself of its occupant and 
Star, swallowing his wrath, absent-mindedly entered 
it, leaving the two waiting youths to scowl blankly 
at the closed door. After a moment Benson ejacu- 
lated in a careful whisper: The other 

boy nodded agreement. “I thought he and Baker 
were going to scrap,” he confided sotto voce. “Gee, 
57 


WINNING HIS GAME 


I wish they had. And I wish Baker had done him 
up I He’s just a big bluff, that’s what he is !” From 
the further cubicle came the sound of song. Dud 
was regaining his temper. 


CHAPTER VI 


FIRST PRACTICE 

T here was a large attenaance at half-past 
three that afternoon in the baseball cage. 
Some forty-odd candidates, most of them 
last year’s first and second team members, had as- 
sembled for work, while fully as many others were 
on hand to watch proceedings. Not that anything 
very exciting promised, but it was a raw, uncom- 
fortable sort of day outside and fellows were glad 
of any event that offered a half hour’s mild amuse- 
ment. The cage was not a very ambitious affair, 
for it had been an after-thought and had been built 
after the building was erected and at a sacrifice of 
one of the two bowling alleys, which, thrown into 
the space formerly occupied by a storeroom, sup- 
plied area for a modest cage. It was large enough 
to throw at base distance in and to hold batting 
practice in if the batter didn’t attempt anything 
more than a tap. Also, of course, it made an ex- 
cellent place for the pitchers to limber up. 

Dud and Jimmy went over to the gymnasium to- 
gether, for the latter had finally decided to try his 
59 


WINNING HIS GAME 


luck with the first nine. When, having got into his 
gymnasium suit, Dud looked around for Jimmy, he 
was rather disconcerted to find himself confronting 
Starling Meyer across the bench. Dud didn’t feel 
so brave today, and would have been just as satis- 
fied if he hadn’t run across the hockey star. But 
the latter only glared in a haughtily disgusted man- 
ner and turned his back, and Dud heaved a sigh of 
relief, not loud but fervent, and made his way un- 
obtrusively out of the locker-room. He was careful 
to nod or speak to such fellows as he knew, although 
lots of times it took a good deal of courage. He 
was obeying Jimmy’s directions, however. 

“Don’t wait for fellows to speak to you,” Jimmy 
had ordered. “Speak first. Don’t act as if you 
were afraid they wouldn’t know you, either. Just 
say, ‘Hello, Smith,’ sort of careless-like, or, if you 
don’t know them fairly well, just nod and smile. 
Don’t grin, smile. Like this.” And Jimmy turned 
the corners of his mouth up slightly and nodded his 
head very briefly. “Get the idea! ‘I know who 
you are, but I don’t recall the name.’ But don’t try 
that on the big fellows like — well, like Murtha and 
Trafford and those chaps. You want to be polite 
to them, sort of cordial, too. Only don’t let them 
think you’re trying to swipe.” 

“Which I am,” Dud had interpolated a trifle bit- 
terly. 


6o 


FIRST PRACTICE 


“Not at all! You’re merely being — er — tactful. 
There’s a difference. Tact and diplomacy are great 
things, Dud. You want to practice ’em.” 

“Toadying, I call it!” 

“Tut, tut! Nothing like it. Call it — call it a 
studied effort to please!” 

“Call it what you like,” Dud had replied som- 
berly. “It’s poor business.” 

“Some of our greatest citizens have been diplo- 
mats, Dud. Look at me !” 

Dud’s gaze picked out a number of baseball 
celebrities whom, under Jimmy’s tutelage, he had 
come to know well enough to speak to. In every 
case, if he found himself near enough to speak 
he spoke, or, failing that, he nodded, trying to look 
quite at his ease and not succeeding very well. Guy 
Murtha was there, of course, for Guy was this 
year’s captain. He was eighteen, a tall, decidedly 
plain youth with so many likable qualities that one 
soon forgot about his features. And Bert Winslow 
and Nick Blake were talking together further on, 
and near by were Ben Myatt and Pete Gordon and 
Nate Leddy. And Hugh Ordway was one of a 
group the rest of whom Dud knew only by sight. 
Jimmy appeared from somewhere and about that 
moment Mr. Sargent, the physical director and 
baseball coach, came in with Tris Barnes, the man- 
ager. Mr. Sargent, or “Pete,” as he was called, was 

6i 


WINNING HIS GAME 


short and square, with a beard and mustache and 
a pair of restless brown eyes behind the big round 
lenses of his spectacles. He had a nervous, impa- 
tient manner of speaking and was quite likely, to 
the secret amusement and delight of the fellows, 
to get his words twisted when the least bit excited. 

“All out of the cage, please, but team candidates,” 
was his order. “Close that door, somebody. Better 
bolt it, Churchill. Now, fellows, if you’ll kindly 
top stalking — ah — stop talking, we’ll get started. 
Captain Murtha, want to say anything?” 

“I guess not, sir. There’ll be plenty of time to 
talk later on, won’t there? I’d like to say, though, 
that we’re going to need more candidates than are 
here today and I wish you fellows would try and 
get others to come out. There’s no use waiting 
until we get outdoors, for this work in the cage 
is very important and fellows who miss it won’t 
stand much show. Our season begins pretty early 
this spring, a week earlier than last year, and we 
haven’t any too much time to get in shape. I’d 
like mighty well to see fully twenty more fellows 
here tomorrow.” 

“Yes, yes; this is a very poor showing,” agreed 
Mr. Sargent. “Well, we’ll make a start, fellows. 
We’re going to have setting-up work this after- 
tioon and for a few days. How’s that, Barnes? 
No, no dumb-bells today, thanks. Just get in line, 
62 


FIRST PRACTICE 


fellows, will you ? About four rows will do. That’s 
it. Now then, follow me, please. And keep your 
mind on what you’re doing. One, two, three, four I 
Stretch the arms out as far as they’ll go. All right. 
Now the wrists; twist! One, two, three, four, five, 
six, seven, eight — keep it up! All right!” 

It soon became tiresome to Dud, for he hadn’t 
been in training and the gymnasium work twice 
weekly had not been strenuous. It was, he re- 
flected, rather remarkable to find so many muscles 
that creaked in unsuspected places ! Almost in front 
of him, in the second row. Star Meyer was going 
through the evolutions easily and gracefully and 
untiringly, and with something of his usual haughty 
disdain for anything not of his own devising. In 
gymnasium shirt and trunks Star showed strong 
and muscular, and Dud felt a warm satisfaction 
over the fact that he and Star had not come to blows 
that morning in the bathroom! Star’s legs were 
things to admire as the muscles played over them 
like whip-cords and Dud wished that he had paid 
a little more attention to his physical condition dur- 
ing the past year or two. He imagined that his 
own thin, elongated body must look strangely out 
of place there with all those other well-conditioned 
ones. Further along, where he could just be seen 
out of the corners of Dud’s eyes, stood Jimmy, 
sturdy and stocky, loafing a bit when Mr. Sargent’s 

63 


WINNING HIS GAME 


gaze was not on him. Dud wanted to loaf, too, 
but didn’t dare. 

The calisthenics lasted less than a half-hour, by 
which time Dud was not the only one breathing 
hard and perspiring freely, and then Barnes set 
the candidates’ names down. When it was Dud’s 
turn to register Star Meyer was nearly at his el- 
bow, a fact which added to Dud’s embarrassment. 

“Name?” asked the manager. 

“Dudley Baker, Upper Middle.” 

“Age, Baker?” 

“Fifteen.” 

“Experience?” 

“I was on the second nine last year.” 

“Position?” 

“P-pitcher, please.” 

Someone sniggered. It wasn’t Star, for Star 
never sniggered. It was too low and common. 
Star only looked insultingly amused. Barnes looked 
a little amused, too, although he tried not to. 

“All right. Baker. Get on the scales and let 
me know your weight tomorrow. Don’t forget, 
please.” 

Dud, aware of more than one amused counte- 
nance, moved away and sought the locker-room, con- 
scious that his cheeks were very red. Jimmy, al- 
ready out of his gymnasium togs, noticed and 
frowned disapprovingly. 

64 


FIRST PRACTICE 

“Why the blushes, Dud?” he asked severely. 

Dud muttered something evasive and passed on 
to his locker. But later Jimmy wormed it out of 
him. Jimmy always could. And Jimmy frowned 
once more. “We’ll have to do something with 
Star,” he said thoughtfully, “something to make him 
have a little more respect for his betters. I won- 
der ” 

Dud laughed. “I thought wondering was my 
stunt, Jimmy.” 

“So it is. I don’t wonder, then. I — I merely 
speculate. Look here. Dud, know what I think?” 
Dud shook his head hopelessly. “Well, then,”^ 
Jimmy went on, “I think you’d better have a show- 
down with Star.” 

“What sort of a — a show-down?” faltered Dud. 

“I mean pick a quarrel with him and fight him. 
You see, Star has a good deal of influence, and I’m 
afraid he’s been talking. One or two things have 
reached me, you know. What we’d better do is 
make an impression on him.” 

“Thanks!” 

“You’re not much of a slugger, are you?” Dud 
shook his head. “No, I suppose not,” continued 
Jimmy thoughtfully. “Well, neither am I, but I 
guess there are a few tricks I could teach you. Be- 
sides, I have a hunch that Star isn’t any fonder of 
scrapping than you are. I wouldn’t be a bit sur- 

65 


WINNING HIS GAME 


prised if you could bluff him, Dud. Of course, I 
may be wrong, but that’s my idea of him.” 

“It’s a fine idea,” said Dud sarcastically, “but 
suppose you’re wrong? Then what?” 

“Why, then you’ll have to mix it up a bit,” re- 
plied the other quite cheerfully. “But we won’t 
try it until we’ve got in shape some. We’d ought 
to have a couple of pairs of light gloves. Know 
any fellow who has any. Dud?” 

“No, I don’t,” answered the other emphatically. 
“And if you think I’m going to stand up to Star 
Meyer and have him knock me around just to — just 
to please you, you’re horribly mistaken. Nothing 
doing!” 

“To please me! I like that! It isn’t to please 
me, you silly chump; it’s for your own good. Star 
is distinctly — distinctly inimical to your interests, 
and ” 

“Yes, and he’d be distinctly inimical to my nose,” 
interrupted Dud warmly. “And I like my nose the 
way it is. You may not, but I do. I’m not going 
to fight him, and that’s all there is to it!” 

Jimmy was plainly disappointed. “It seems the 
only way, though. Dud,” he said pleadingly. “If 
you know any better way — — And besides you’ve 
got a reputation for slugging to keep up. What will 
fellows think if you let Star sneer at you and don’t 
call him down?” 


66 


FIRST PRACTICE 


“You had no business telling fellows I was a 
fighter,” said Dud. “You didn’t consult me about 
that and I’m not responsible now for what they 
think. I’m not a fighter and never was and never 
could be. I don’t know anything about it. And — 
and I don’t want to.” 

Jimmy sighed and shrugged. “You’re extremely 
difficile^ Dud,” he said in a discouraged tone. “I 
plan things for you ” 

“Plan things! I should say you did! You’re a 
bully little planner, Jimmy, but I don’t like your 
plans. Think up something that won’t get me 
killed, please!” 

“Piffle! What if Star did give you a black eye? 
You’d have the credit of putting up a game fight 
and fellows would like you better. I tell you, Dud, 
a fellow’s got to risk something now and then !” 

“You do the risking then,” replied the other a 
trifle sullenly. “I don’t want any black eyes, 
thanks.” 

“Oh, all right then. Still, we’ve got to take Star 
down a peg or two. Dud. But don’t you worry. I’ll 
fix my giant intellect on the problem. Leave it all 
to me, old chap.” 

“Yes,” answered Dud bitterly, “and find myself 
all beaten up some fine day ! Look here, Jimmy, I 
guess this thing’s gone about far enough. Let’s 
drop it now. I — I guess I don’t care so much about 
67 


WINNING HIS GAME 

being a ‘regular feller’ as I did. It — it’s too plaguey 
strenuous I” 

“Give it up just when we’re beginning to show 
results?” cried Jimmy in amazement. “Never! 
When I start a thing, Dud, I see it through. That’s 
me, old chap. Having once set my hand to the 
plow ” 

Dud groaned in despair. “Well, then,” he mut-* 
tered, “I wish you’d go off and plow somewhere 
else!” 

“Cheer up. Dud, the dawn is breaking!” Jimmy 
slapped him encouragingly on the back. “We’ll 
make a regular feller of you yet!” 

“That’s all well enough, Jimmy, but what I want 
to know is this. What’s Star Meyer going to do 
when he hears that I’m telling it around school that 
he’s afraid of me? It’s a wonder to me that he 
hasn’t heard it already!” 

Jimmy winked. “I sort of think he has, Dud,” 
he said softly. 


CHAPTER VII 


BEN MYATT ADVISES 

I F, however, Starling Meyer had heard Jimmy’s 
version of that encounter with Dud, he cer- 
tainly gave no sign. When he and Dud met, 
which was frequently now that daily baseball 
practice was going on in the cage, he either looked 
over Dud’s head or deigned him a fleeting and dis- 
dainful glance. But Dud didn’t feel at all badly 
because he received no more attention. In fact, he 
was extremely glad every time he looked at Star 
and pondered on that youth’s wealth of muscle and 
length of arm, and he hoped from the bottom of his 
heart that Star would keep right on treating him 
with distant disdain — the more distant the better! 

Meanwhile Jimmy, being a firm believer in pre- 
paredness, had procured two pairs of light-weight 
boxing gloves from different sources and Dud, much 
against his inclination, was made to don a pair every 
day before supper and do his best to master the 
rudiments of self-defense. I don’t believe, just be- 
tween you and me, that Jimmy knew a whole lot 
about boxing, but at least he knew more than his 
69 


WINNING HIS GAME 


friend did. Dud was the veriest tyro and those 
first lessons, undertaken by Dud with no relish and 
one might well say under compulsion, were strange 
affairs. With the study table drawn back to the 
length of the green cord connecting droplight and 
ceiling plug — the droplight met a natural fate dur- 
ing the third lesson — an eight-foot “ring” was se- 
cured, and in this, with much thudding of shoes and 
thumping of gloves, the two feinted and parried and 
struck. The striking, though, was somewhat one- 
sided at first, Jimmy being the striker and Dud the 
strikee, to coin a convenient word. Anyone pausing 
outside the door of Number 19 might have heard, 
in spite of the closed transom, a conversation calcu- 
lated to arouse curiosity. 

“Watch your head now! . . . Well, I warned 
you, didn’t I? . . . Keep your right in front of 
you! Don’t drop your arm like that or . . . Now 
lead! Quick! Oh, put some pep in it. Dud! . . . 
More like this; see? . . . Feint with your right 
and come up quick w^ith your left straight for my 
chin! . . . Get it? Try it again. . . . That’s bet- 
ter, only you’re too slow. You give it away before- 
hand. Keep your eyes on mine and don’t look where 
you’re going to hit. . . . Sorry, Dud! Was it too 
hard? ... You had your guard down, you see. 
. . o Quicker on your feet, old chap! Keep mov- 
ing! Don’t get set or I’ll ... I just wanted to 
70 


BEN MYATT ADVISES 


show you what would happen, Dud. Don’t get mad 
about it. The only way to learn. . . . Good one! 
You got me that time! Right on the nose! Bully 
work! . . .” 

After some half-dozen lessons Dud began to 
learn. And Jimmy, having procured a paper-cov- 
ered book in the village which was entitled “Boxing 
Self-Taught,” studied it diligently and became more 
proficient. I doubt that Jimmy, even when at his 
best, was what might be termed a scientific boxer, 
and Dud never developed beyond the hammer-and- 
tongs stage, but they got to fancying themselves 
quite a bit after a fortnight or so and talked learn- 
edly of “hooks” and “upper-cuts” and “side-step- 
ping” and other mysterious things. And by that 
time Dud had become really interested and viewed 
Star Meyer with far less awe. In fact, though 
I grieve to relate it, he even got to the point 
where he speculated on what it would feel like 
to place his fist in violent contact with Star’s super- 
cilious nose ! The conclusion that he invariably ar- 
rived at was that the sensation would be distinctly 
pleasurable! But much to Jimmy’s disappointment 
— and a little to Dud’s, too, I fancy — Star offered 
the latter no possible excuse for doing such a thing. 

“He’s afraid of you,” grieved Jimmy. “Isn’t 
that the limit? A big, husky chap like him ” 

“He,” corrected Dud. 

71 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“ Being afraid of a fellow six inches smaller,” 

continued the other, superbly disregarding the in- 
terruption. “Wouldn’t it make you weary? What 
we’ve got to do, Dud, is force a quarrel on him. 
There’s no use waiting for him to start anything!” 

“Well, but why?” asked Dud doubtfully. “As 
long as he isn’t bothering me ” 

“He is bothering you I He — he’s a thorn in your 
flesh!” 

“Oh!” said the other vaguely. “Is he?” 

“Of course he is! He’s talking, too. Some of 
the things he’s said have got back to me.” 

“What?” asked Dud. 

“Never mind what. You wouldn’t want to hear 
’em, I guess.” 

Dud laughed. “You’re making that up, Jimmy,” 
he charged. “You’re just dying to get me into a 
scrap with him. I wouldn’t mind — much, although 
I guess he’d lick me, but I don’t see any use in 
fighting him about nothing. Of course, if he did 
anything, or said anything ” 

“Haven’t I been telling you ” 

“And I heard him say it,” added Dud hastily, 
“why, that would be different.” 

“Oh, if you’re going to wait for him to knock 
you down!” 

“I’m not,” replied Dud indignantly, “but I can’t 
fight him for nothing at all!” 

72 


BEN MYATT ADVISES 


“Huh I” Jimmy viewed his chum gloomily. “I 
don’t see what use it is then to go to all that trouble 
to learn to fight if — if you aren’t going to make use 
of — of your knowledge. That’s an economical 
waste, Dud. And waste is sinful.” 

“It isn’t a waste,” said Dud. “It’s a good thing 
to know how to defend yourself. Besides, that box- 
ing business has put my arm back in shape for pitch- 
ing. It feels great nowadays. Just feel of that 
muscle, Jimmy.” 

“Not bad,” decided the other, grudgingly. Then, 
more brightly: “Say, you ought to be able to hand 
Star a peach of a wallop with that. Dud I Well, all 
we can do is hope for the best. We don’t want to 
fight, but if we have to ” 

“We?” queried Dud. “I don’t see where you 
come into it ! You’re always talking about ‘we’ fight- 
ing Star Meyer, but it’s me ” 

“I,” said Jimmy sweetly. 

“It’s I, then, who would have to do it. If you 
want Star licked so plaguey much why don’t you do 
it yourself?” 

Jimmy considered a moment. “Well, say, that 
isn’t a bad idea,” he replied at last. “Someone 
ought to do it, that’s sure ! If you’re quite certain 
you don’t mind ” 

“I’m dead sure,” said Dud emphatically. 

“Then maybe ” Jimmy felt of his arm mus- 

73 


WINNING HIS GAME 

cles. “ril think it over,” he concluded thought- 
fully. 

Baseball practice had by this time really become 
baseball practice. I mean by that that the period 
of dumb-bell exercises and setting-up drills had 
passed and the candidates, reenforced by some dozen 
or so late-comers, were passing and batting and 
learning the tricks of the game. The battery can- 
didates comprised Nate Leddy, Ben Myatt, Gus 
Weston, Will Brunswick, Joe Kelly and Dud Baker, 
pitchers, and Pete Gordon, Hal Cherry and Ed 
Brooks, catchers. Of the pitchers, Myatt was last 
year’s star and a clever twirler, Leddy was a good 
man but not so dependable. Weston had speed but 
little control, and the others were still unknown 
quantities, except that both Kelly and Dud had 
twirled a few times for the second nine the spring 
before. Pete Gordon was the regular catcher 
and Brooks the second-choice man. Cherry was a 
beginner who showed promise. At the end of the 
first two weeks of indoor work, the battery candi- 
dates were given their first try-out one afternoon 
at the conclusion of the regular practice, and Dud, 
somewhat to his surprise, survived. Still, as Jimmy 
kindly pointed out to him later, that didn’t mean 
much since it was the custom to keep all the would- 
be pitchers until the team got out of doors. Never- 
theless, Dud was encouraged and did his level best 
74 


BEN MYATT ADVISES 


to make good. Myatt, a big, likable chap of eigh- 
teen or over, took a real interest in the efforts of 
the younger members of the staff and was generous 
with advice and instruction. One afternoon, shortly 
before the candidates got out-doors for the first time, 
he took Dud in hand after practice. 

“Say, Baker,” Ben called as Dud was leaving the 
cage, “got time to pitch me a few?” 

Dud, pulling his glove off, turned back. “Why, 
yes,” he answered. “Want me to?” 

“Yes. Yell to Ed Brooks to lend me his mitt, will 
you?” A minute later Ben took his place in front 
of the net and thumped the big mitten encouragingly. 
“All right now, boy! Try a few easy ones. That’s 
nice. I say. Baker, mind if I give you a hint or 
two?” 

“I’d be awfully glad if you would,” replied Dud 
eagerly. “I know I’m not much good.” 

“Who says so?” 

“I do.” Dud smiled. 

But Ben shook his head reprovingly. “You 
ought to be the last one to say it,” he announced 
gravely. “First thing you want to do, boy, is stop 
tying yourself in a knot on your wind-up. You’ll 
never last nine innings if you go through all that 
gymnastic stuff. What’s the big idea?” 

“I don’t know,” faltered Dud. “That’s the way 
I’ve always done it, I suppose.” 

75 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“Well, I wouldn’t do it any more. You see if 
you can’t reach the toe-plate without going through 
so many motions. Cut out that second swing of 
yours, why don’t you? Here’s you.” Ben went 
through an exaggerated imitation of Dud’s wind- 
up. “Too much work, see ? If you had a man on sec- 
ond, now, you couldn’t do half that, boy; he’d be 
sliding into the plate before you were through. Get 
your body into it and stop throwing your arm 
around. It’s the body that puts the speed into the 
ball. You want to start easy and work up gradu- 
ally until, when the ball leaves your hand, you’re 
at the top of the pitch. The way you do it, Baker, 
you get a lot of motion up and then lose it before 
you pitch. And you tire yourself a lot. I couldn’t 
last five innings if I threw my arms around like that. 
I hope you don’t mind my criticizing you, Baker.” 

Dud didn’t, and tried to say so, but his response 
was not much more than a murmur. However, Ben 
went on cheerfully. 

“Just at first you won’t have the control you 
have now, I guess, but after you’ve got on to the 
hang of it you’ll find you can pitch a lot easier. Just 
try it, will you?” 

Dud’s first attempt was a complete failure, for 
he started unthinkingly on that second swing, tried 
to stop it and got so confused that he didn’t even 
let the ball out of his hand. Ben suggested getting 
76 


BEN MYATT ADVISES 

used to the wind-up before trying to pitch, and so 
Dud twirled and twisted a number of times, uncom- 
fortably conscious of the few loiterers watching 
through the netting, and finally got so that he was 
able to reach the moment of delivery without fall- 
ing over his feet. But when he tried to pitch a few 
straight balls into Ben Myatt’s mitten he discovered 
that the change in his method had seemingly spoiled 
his direction, for more than once Ben had to reach 
for a wide one or else scoop one off the floor. 

“Don’t worry about that,” said Ben. “You’ll get 
your eye back again. That’s enough for now, I 
guess. There’s one more thing I’d suggest, though. 
Baker. You’re trying to pitch too many different 
things. You were hooking them in and out and 
dropping them and trying to float ’em, too. You 
don’t need all that, boy. Not yet, anyhow. You 
take my advice and learn to pitch a good straight 
ball. Get so you can send it high, low, in or out or 
right in the groove. Then learn to change your pace 
without giving it away to the batsman. After that 
there’s plenty of time for drops and hooks. I tell 
you. Baker, the fellow that has control is the fellow 
the batters hate to stand up to. This thing of hav- 
ing fifty-seven varieties of balls doesn’t cut much 
ice, old man.” Ben opened the door and gently 
pushed Dud out ahead of him and they went across 
to the locker-room. “A chap who can tease the 
77 


WINNING HIS GAME 


batter with the straight ones, slip one across for a 
strike now and then, follow a fast one with a slow 
one and do it all without changing his style is 
the fellow who wins his games. I’m not saying 
hooks and floaters and all those aren’t useful, for 
they are, but I do say that when a fellow’s begin- 
ning he ought to pin his faith to just one thing, and 
that’s control. Don’t be worried if they hit you 
hard at first; they’re bound to; but just keep on 
learning to put ’em where you want to, and the 
first thing you know you’ll be fooling them worse 
than the curve artist. Practice that new wind-up, 
boy, and cut out all the unnecessary gee-gaws that 
just use up your strength. Nine innings is a whole 
month sometimes and it’s the very dickens to feel 
your muscles getting sore along about the sixth. 
So long. Baker. Good luck.” 

Dud thought it over while he stood under the 
shower and while he pulled on his clothes. Maybe 
Ben Myatt was right, he reflected, but he was a 
bit proud of his ability to “put something on the 
ball” and confining himself to straight ones didn’t 
sound interesting. For a moment he wondered if 
Ben was trying to steer him away from his hooks 
and drops so that he wouldn’t prove a rival. Then 
the absurdity of that suspicion dawned and he 
smiled at it. In the first place, Ben wouldn’t be in 
school another year, and in the second place Dud 

78 


BEN MYATT ADVISES 


was certain that he would never be able to pitch as 
Ben could if he kept at it all his life I In the end, by 
which time he was tying his scarf in front of one 
of the little mirrors, he decided that Ben’s advice 
was excellent and that he would follow it, for a 
while at least. 

The next afternoon, Hal Cherry, catching Dud 
and Kelly, looked a trifle surprised and a bit dis- 
gusted, too, when Dud’s delivery suddenly exhibited 
a strange eccentricity. Cherry had to spear the air 
in all directions that day, and Mr. Sargent, watch- 
ing and counseling the fellows, followed Dud’s do- 
ings with dubious eyes. Nor was Dud perceptibly 
more steady the day following, and Brooks, who 
caught him, protested more than once. By that time 
Dud was getting discouraged and was strongly 
tempted to go back to his former more elaborate 
and far more labored wind-up, and would have done 
so probably had it not been for Ben Myatt’s brief 
encouragement after practice. 

“Haven’t got the hang of it yet, I see. Baker,” 
remarked the veteran. “Keep on, though. It’ll 
come to you in another day or two, I guess. Try 
not to slow up just before your pitch, boy. That’s 
your trouble now.” 

Pondering that hint. Dud hauled Jimmy out of 
bed early the next morning and conducted him out 
back of the dormitory, where, stationed midway be- 
79 


WINNING HIS GAME 


tween two windows, he made cheerful efforts to get 
his hands on the balls that Dud pitched him. Many 
of them, however, bounded unchallenged from the 
bricks and trickled back to Dud. One particularly 
wild heave came so near a window that Dud shiv- 
ered, pocketed the ball and led the way back to the 
room. 

“If,’’ said Jimmy disgustedly, on the way, “that’s 
a sample of what you can do with this simplified 
wind-up you’re telling about you’d better go back to 
the old stuff. There’s nothing in it. Dud!” 

“I’m going to stick it out a bit longer, though,” 
was the answer. “Ben says it will take time, 
Jimmy.” 

“Yes, and patience,” said Jimmy sarcastically, 
“the catcher supplying the patience. After you’ve 
‘beaned’ a few batters. Dud, they’ll put you in jail 
as a danger to the community. I’m glad I don’t 
have to stand up to you!” 

Two days after that, March having departed 
very lamb-like, the cage was abandoned and out- 
door practice began. 


CHAPTER VIII 


A WILD PITCH 

A pril at its best is an uncertain month, and 
April this spring lived up to its reputation. 
No sooner had the baseball candidates 
grown accustomed to the feel of soft and springy 
turf under their feet than a three-days’ rain began 
and they were forced to retire again to the dim 
and unsympathetic cage. The track and field can- 
didates defied weather conditions until the cinders 
held pools of water and the pits became of the con- 
sistency of oatmeal porridge. Then the sun shone 
forth again and, after another day of indoor con- 
finement, the players once more trailed down to 
Lothrop Field. The diamond was far from dry, 
but the sun was warm and a little south-east breeze 
promised its best efforts. Candidates for the sec- 
ond team were called out that afternoon, and Jimmy, 
whose status with the first was still a matter for con- 
jecture, thought seriously of returning to the fold. 
Dud, however, refused to sanction the step and so 
Jimmy grumblingly stayed where he was. 

“I know just how it’ll be, though,” he said pessi- 
8i 


WINNING HIS GAME 


mistically. “They’ll keep me here until Crowley’s 
got his second team all made up and then they’ll 
drop me. Oh, all right!” He stretched his legs 
and leaned more comfortably back against the rail- 
ing of the stand. “After all, it’s too nice a day to do 
anything. I pity those poor dubs out there catching 
flies and wrenching their arms throwing the ball in. 
Me for the quiet, untroubled life of a substitute out- 
fielder. You’ll have to go in and pitch pretty quick, 
Dud; Pete’s got his eye on you now; but I’ll just 
sit here and keep this bench warm and ” 

Jimmy’s remarks were rudely interrupted. 

“Hi, Logan!” called Mr. Sargent. “Go on out 
there to left and get your hands on some of those 
flies. Lively, now ! Send Boynton in.” 

Jimmy arose with alacrity, casting a despairing 
glance at Dud, and ambled off. Hugh Ordway, 
seated further along the bench, got up and joined 
Dud. 

“Awfully pretty, isn’t it?” observed Hugh, nod- 
ding toward the wide expanse of new green that led 
away to the ribbon of river beyond. “Reminds me 
a lot of home — I mean England.” It sounded as if 
he was correcting himself, and Dud asked: 

“But England is your home, isn’t it?” 

Hugh nodded. “I suppose it is, only when I’m 
here I like to remember that I’m part American, if 
you know what I mean.” 


82 


A WILD PITCH 


“Your mother is American, isn’t she?” asked 
Dud. 

“Yes, she was born in Maryland. Her folks have 
lived there for a long time. It’s a bit odd. Baker, 
but sometimes I feel as if I were more U. S. A. than 
British. Being sort of half-and-half like that, a fel- 
low doesn’t quite know where he is, if you know 
what I mean!” 

“I dare say,” murmured Dud. It was the first 
time that Hugh Ordway had ever approached him, 
and he felt rather embarrassed. The desire to make 
a good impression on the other only resulted in 
tying his tongue up. But Hugh appeared not to no- 
tice the fact. 

“How are you getting on,” he asked, “with your 
bowl — ^your pitching?” 

“Just fair, I guess. How do you like it? Base- 
ball, I mean.” 

“Crazy about it I I’ll never learn to play decently, 
I fancy, but it’s a jolly game, isn’t it? What I like 
best is batting, only I can’t seem to hit the ball very 
well yet. Myatt fools me every time, you know. I 
got a couple of good ones off Nate Leddy the other 
day, though. Are you pitching today?” 

“I guess Pete will put me in for an inning or 
two later. He’s giving us all a chance now. I — 
I’m pretty rotten so far.” 

“Haven’t found yourself yet, I fancy. It takes a 

83 


WINNING HIS GAME 


bit of time, eh? Bert says a lot of us will be 
dropped to the second pretty soon. I say, Baker, 
I wasn’t thinking of you, you know I” 

“Oh, I’ll get dropped, all right, I guess.” 

“Hope not, I’m sure. In my own case I wouldn’t 
mind a bit. Maybe I could play well enough to 
make the second. Or a class team perhaps.” 

“I thought you — ^you fielded very well the other 
day,” said Dud politely. 

Hugh laughed. “You’re spoofing, I fancy. I did 
catch a few, but I was beastly scared of them. Bert 
says I looked as if I were going to catch them in my 
mouth! Odd feeling you have when those balls 
begin to come down, getting bigger and bigger every 
second, and you’re wondering whether you’ll catch 
them or if they’ll hit you on the nose! Jolly good 
fun, though! Corking! Lots more exciting than 
cricket.” 

“Is it? I never played cricket.” 

“Oh, no end! Cricket’s a bully good game, too, 
but it’s a lot more quiet and — er — sedate, if you 
know what I mean. Well, I’ll toddle. Hope you 
get on finely. Baker. And drop in some time, eh?” 

“Thanks,” answered Dud. Then, as Hugh 
moved away, he blurted: “Did you really mean 
that, Ordway?” 

“What? Why, of course!” 

“Then — then I will. I didn’t know- 

84 


Dud’s 


A WILD PITCH 


voice trailed off into silence as he dropped an em- 
barrassed gaze. Hugh smiled and nodded. 

“Right-o, Baker! Glad to have you.*’ 

Dud, wishing he hadn’t made such a fool of him- 
self, bent stern attention on his glove until the red 
had subsided from his cheeks. “He will think me an 
awful kid,” he reflected. “Asking things like that 
and — and blushing like a silly girl 1 And of course 
he couldn’t say anything else. You won’t catch me 
going!” 

Further self-communing was cut short by Mr. 
Sargent. “All right. Baker,” called the coach. 
“Warm up, will you? Brooks will catch you. See 
if you can’t steady down today.” 

Dud squirmed out of his sweater, pulled his glove 
on and joined Ed Brooks in front of the first-base 
stand. Brunswick had taken Kelly’s place in the 
box and it would be Dud’s turn next. As Brooks 
tossed the ball to him and spread his hands invit- 
ingly wide apart Dud hoped hard that he would be 
able to steady ^own, but doubted it. As yet the 
recollection of that impulsive question to Ordway 
still made his face burn. Consequently when, after 
pitching a half-dozen easy ones to warm his arm, 
he began to put on a little speed, he was pleased as 
well as surprised to find that some of his old control 
had come back. Encouraged, he made greater ef- 
forts to put the ball where he wanted to and, un- 

85 


WINNING HIS GAME 


consciously, began to “steam up.” But Brooks cau- 
tioned him and Dud slowed down. 

“That’s pitching ’em,” called Brooks. “They’re 
all straight, though. Dud, or pretty near it. Try a 
slant.” 

But Dud resisted the temptation to “hook” one 
and shook his head. Instead, he sent over a slow 
one that fooled Brooks completely and brought 
from the latter a laugh at his own expense. “Do it 
again,” he urged, as he threw the ball back. “I 
want to get used to those.” 

“I’ll wait until you’re not expecting it,” laughed 
Dud. 

There was no line-up today, but first and second- 
string players were batting and running the bases, 
taking their places in the field ultimately to let others 
come in. Weston, Kelly and Brunswick had held 
the mound for an inning or two apiece, while Ben 
Myatt and Nate Leddy were trying to improve their 
hitting, a thing that the latter was rather weak at. 
Presently the outfielders were called in in a body and 
others took their places, and changes were made in 
the infield. Brunswick went to the shower and Dud 
to the pitcher’s box. Pete Gordon was still catching. 

“All right. Baker!” called Pete. “Strike ’em out, 
boy. Put her over now.” 

Neil Ayer fouled one and then landed on the 
next and went to first, and Bert Winslow took his 
86 


A WILD PITCH 


place. The pitchers were not expected to work 
hard, for a batsman stayed in until he hit or was 
caught out. Bert was difficult to dispose of, since he 
cannily refused everything that wasn’t distinctly a 
strike, and Dud pitched a dozen deliveries before 
Bert found one he liked and rapped it to deep cen- 
ter. Meanwhile Mr. Sargent was coaching Ayer 
from first to second and on to third, making him 
slide to every base even though he was not threat- 
ened. When, however, he tried to steal home on 
Dud’s wind-up. Dud managed to keep his head, send 
in a fast one and saw Ayer nailed a yard from the 
rubber. 

It wasn’t especially interesting work and some of 
the hits were screechers into deep right, left or cen- 
ter that the outfielders couldn’t begin to get their 
hands onto. Dud had not had much experience in 
fielding his position and was momentarily in fear 
that a hot liner would come at his head. If one did, 
he was quite certain he would duck and quite dis- 
grace himself. But when, after some nine or ten 
batters had faced him. Captain Murtha hit one 
squarely on the nose and it came straight at Dud, 
the latter involuntarily put up his hands and, while 
he didn’t make the catch, knocked it down, recov- 
ered it and tossed out Murtha at first. He got a 
round of applause from the stand for that, which 
so rattled him that his next delivery shot past Gor- 

87 


WINNING HIS GAME 


don a good four feet to his right and let in a runner 
from third. The batter sent the next one off on a 
voyage to deep center and took two bases. The 
base-runners were taking such extraordinary chances 
and Mr. Sargent was making such a hullabaloo back 
of first that Dud began to lose his control badly, 
and he was forced to put exactly eleven balls across 
before Weston, tired of waiting for a good one, 
reached for a wide ball and fouled out to first-base- 
man. 

Then Star Meyer faced him and Dud made up his 
mind to make Star work for his hit. Star viewed 
the pitcher with amused contempt and Dud felt his 
cheeks tingle. But he set his teeth and sent a high 
one across that the batter disdained and followed it 
with one that barely cut the inner corner of the plate 
and was just knee-high. Star looked doubtful about 
it, but Gordon proclaimed it “a daisy. Star! They 
don’t come any better.” That apparently impressed 
Star, for he swung hard at the succeeding delivery, 
which, happening to be one of Dud’s slow ones, 
crossed the plate almost a second after the swing! 
Someone laughed and Star frowned haughtily. Dud 
tempted him with another wide one and then sneaked 
one across right in the groove and caught the batter 
napping. Gordon thumped the ball into his glove 
before he threw it back, a signal of commendation 
with the big catcher. 


88 


A WILD PITCH 


, “That’s the stuff, Baker!” he called. “That’s 
pitching ’em, boy!” 

Dud tried another slow one and again Star swung 
I too soon and again a laugh greeted the perform- 
I ance. This time, with the ripple of laughter, came 
I a smatter of applause from the handful of spec- 
1 tators on the stand. Star’s countenance lost its 
' haughtiness and his mouth set grimly. Dud decided 
that he might as well let Star hit and get rid of him, 
and so he tried to put one over shoulder-high and 
‘ across the middle of the plate. But something went 
wrong. Dud was convinced afterwards that his 
foot had turned on a pebble. At all events, instead 
of traveling straight and true into Gordon’s waiting 
mitt, the ball took an erratic slant and brought up 
against Star’s shoulder. There was speed on the ball 
and the batter had scarcely tried to dodge it, and 
now he dropped his bat, clapped a hand to his 
I shoulder and performed a series of most unconven- 
tional steps about the plate. Dud started toward 
him, but Gordon was already at his side and so Dud 
contented himself with a sincere “Awfully sorry, 
Meyer!” 

But Star, impatiently throwing off the catcher’s 
hand, turned an angry countenance to Dud. “You 
meant to do that. Baker! You did it on purpose. 
I’ll get you for it, too ! You can’t ” 

But Mr. Sargent interposed then. “Tut, tut. 


WINNING HIS GAME 

Meyer I It was purely an accident. You must learn 
to get out of the way of them. Sorry if it hurt you, 
though. Get Davy to rub it for you. That’ll do for 
today.” 

Star, pausing to cast a final ominous look at Dud, 
recovered his poise and, rubbing his injury, retired 
haughtily. Many amused glances followed him, 
for no one there doubted that it had been purely 
accidental and Star’s loss of temper had struck them 
as unnecessary. The incident ended Dud’s useful- 
ness for that day, for his delivery became so wild 
that Mr. Sargent quickly took him out, putting in 
Weston to finish the practice. 

Dud, yielding the ball shamefacedly, retired to 
the bench and donned his sweater. He was quite 
aware of the fact that Mr. Sargent meant him to 
return to the Field House, but the thought of the 
irate Star Meyer, who, by the time Dud got there, 
would doubtless be just getting into his clothes, de- 
terred him. Instead, then, of leaving the field. Dud 
found a place on the bench and pretended deep ab- 
sorption in the practice. Presently, though, a better 
idea presented itself. Across on the other diamond 
the second was putting in its first day of work under 
the tuition of “Dinny,” as Mr. Crowley, the as- 
sistant physical director, was called. He would, 
he decided, wander over there as unostentatiously as 
possible, and so escape Mr. Sargent’s eagle eye. But 
90 


A WILD PITCH 


it proved a mistaken move, for just at the moment 
that Dud detached himself from the few idlers on 
the bench, Mr. Sargent happened to look across the 
diamond, and his Impatient voice quickly followed 
his glance. 

“Baker I Go ahead in ! I told you once !” 

The fellows on the bench grinned and Dud tried 
his best to make it appear that he wanted nothing 
better In life than to do that very thing! But, just 
the same, once behind the stand and out of view of 
those on the diamond, his feet moved very slowly 
along the path. I don’t believe that Dud was a cow- 
ard, for one may have no stomach for physical com- 
bat and yet be brave enough In other ways, but I 
am quite certain that he wished heartily all the way 
across to the Field House that the tall and dignified 
form of Star Meyer would appear at the doorway 
and proceed homeward before he reached there! 
But nothing of the sort happened, and when Dud 
entered the locker-room he was just in time to hear 
Star finish an account of the recent episode for the 
benefit of three boys who lolled on the benches In 
various stages of undress. 

“He was afraid to give me one I could hit and so 
he whanged one straight at me. I wasn’t looking 
for it and couldn’t get out of the way, and it got me 
right on the shoulder. He threw it as hard as he 
could, too, and that arm will be out of commission 

91 


WINNING HIS GAME 


for days. Pete had the cheek to tell me that it was 
an accident I Accident I Yes, it was — not! You 
wait till I get a chance at that fresh kidl” 


CHAPTER IX 


JIMMY TAKES CHARGE 

D UD’S first impulse was to turn back, but one 
of Star’s audience had seen him already, and 
so, after a moment of hesitation, he went 
on and, since Star had his back toward the door, 
reached his locker before the speaker saw him. 
Then there was an instant’s silence. Dud pulled 
open the locker door, took his towel out and dropped 
it on the bench. Then: 

‘‘Got canned, did you?” asked Star. “Maybe 
you’U learn after a while that you can’t do that sort 
of thing and get away with it.” 

“I didn’t mean to hit you, Meyer, honestly,” re- 
turned Dud. “I — I’m awfully sorry. There was a 

pebble or something ” 

“Oh, forget your pebbles! You know very well 
you meant to hit me. You’ve been doing a lot of 
talking around school lately. I’ve heard it. And 
I’d have given you a mighty good spanking if you’d 
been big enough to notice.” Star had walked around 
the end of the bench and now faced Dud like an out- 
raged Jove from a yard away. Dud tried hard to 
93 


WINNING HIS GAME 


appear undisturbed, but the mere publicity was 
enough to send the blood into his cheeks and put a 
tremor in his voice as he answered. 

“I haven’t been talking about you, Meyer,” he 
said as stoutly as he could. “And, anyhow, you 
needn’t try to bully me. I’ve apologized for that — 
that accident, and that’s all I can do.” 

“Oh, you apologize, do you?” Star laughed 
amusedly. “Well, apologies don’t answer, kid. If 
you weren’t so small I’d kick you around the room, 
you — you ugly-faced little insect!” 

“Never mind my size!” cried Dud, throwing dis- 
cretion to the winds in the sudden flare of anger. 
“And never mind about my looks, either 1 Any time 
you want to start kicking you go ahead, Meyer 1 I’m 
not afraid of you! You’re a bluff, a big bluff, that’s 
all you ” 

Star’s right hand shot out suddenly and the open 
palm landed hard on Dud’s cheek. The blow sent 
him sprawling across’ the bench, but he was on his 
feet again in an instant, his face white save where 
the impact of Star’s hand had left a tingling red 
stain. Star, smiling crookedly, had stepped back, 
ready for Dud’s rush. But the rush wasn’t made, 
for at that instant “Davy” Richards’ voice came 
sternly from the doorway. 

“Here, boys! Stop that! Look you, Meyer, 
leave him alone ! What mean you hitting a boy be- 
94 


JIMMY TAKES CHARGE 


neath your size, eh?” Davy was Welsh and when 
excited relapsed into a brogue as broad as it was 
difficult of reproduction in type. Star looked 
around, shrugged his shoulders and laughed 
lightly. 

“I wasn’t hitting him, Davy. I merely slapped 
his face for him. If I ever really hit him he’d 
know it!” 

“Well, no more of it in this house I ’Tis no place 
for fighting. And you there, you. Baker, behave 
yourself, do you hear me? No more now or I’ll 
take a hand myself!” Davy Retired grumbling, and 
one of the audience of three chuckled as he got up 
and sauntered out. The others exchanged glances 
of amusement and went on with their dressing. Star 
nonchalantly retired to his own bench, leaving Dud 
standing with clenched fists and angry face in the 
middle of the floor, for once unconscious of the curi- 
ous gazes of others. 

“It isn’t finished yet, Meyer,” he said at last in a 
low voice. 

Star glanced up contemptuously. “You’ll be fin- 
ished if you try any more funny stunts with me. 
Baker,” he said threateningly. “And I want you to 
stop talking about me, too. Hear that? The next 
time I’ll do a lot more than slap your ugly face for 
you!” 

“You’ll fight me!” 


95 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“I wouldn’t bother to I” Star laughed. “I might 
break you in two if I hit you I” 

“You’ll fight me,” reiterated Dud doggedly. “If 
you won’t ” 

He stopped, for Davy was glowering at him from 
the doorway. 

“Look you. Baker, what I say I mean! One 
more word about fighting while you’re in this place 
and out you go!” 

Dud subsided and silence reigned until the door 
opened to admit a number of released second team 
candidates, by which time Dud was ready for his 
shower. When he returned to the lockers Star had 
gone. By that time the room was crowded from end 
to end, for practice was over and some forty-odd 
boys were struggling for space. Jimmy spied his 
chum and pushed his way to him. 

“Oh, Dud, it was fine !” he whispered delightedly. 
“Only why didn’t you put it a foot or so higher and 
‘bean’ him? Did you see him again?” 

Dud nodded. 

“Was he mad?” demanded Jimmy eagerly. 
“Hello, what are you looking so funny about? You 

didn’t — I say. Dud, you two didn’t ” He 

paused expressively. 

“We had words,” replied Dud in low tones, “and 
he — slapped my face.” 

“Slapped ” Jimmy whistled. Then: “Great 

96 


JIMMY TAKES CHARGE 


stuff, Dud! What did you do? Where were you? 
I wish I’d seen it!” 

“I didn’t do anything. Davy butted in. I’m go- 
ing to fight him, though.” 

“Of course ! Slapped your face, eh, the big bully? 
That — that’s a fighting matter. Dud. When are 
you going to do it?” 

“He refused; said he wouldn’t bother with me; 
said he might break me in two! But he’s got to 
fight, Jimmy!” 

“You bet he has!” agreed Jimmy enthusiastically. 
“But listen: let me get my shower. You wait for 
me, will you? We’ve got to talk this over, you 
know.” 

“There isn’t anything to talk over,” said Dud 
flatly. “He’s got to fight me.” 

“Yes, but if he says he won’t You wait for 

me, see? I won’t be a minute.” And Jimmy, beam- 
ing broadly, dashed off. 

Dud found a corner by the door and waited, lis- 
tening idly to the chatter of the fellows. Nearby 
Foster Tray, struggling with a stubborn shirt, re- 
marked in smothered tones: 

“Did you see Baker peg Star in the arm. Mil? 
It was a fierce old biff!” 

“Yes,” replied Oscar Milford, “and Star was 
hopping mad.” He chuckled. “Said Baker did it 
on purpose. Well, maybe he did. I don’t know. 
97 


WINNING HIS GAME 


But they say Baker’s got Star scared of him, for 
some reason.” 

“Oh, piffle! A kid like that? Not likely! But 
it isn’t sense getting mad about being hit with a ball. 
Gee, if I got peeved every time I got whacked last 


A good-natured altercation over the possession 
of a bath towel that both Leddy and Parker 
laid claim to drowned the rest of Tray’s remark 
and Dud slipped further along. Captain Murtha 
ran across him a moment later and stopped an 
instant. 

“Say, Baker, you did mighty well there for a 
while today. Keep it up, old man. But don’t lay 
out any more of the team, eh? You might leave us 
short-handed!” Guy laughed, nodded and went on, 
and presently, showing numerous evidences of hav- 
ing dressed hurriedly, Jimmy arrived a bit breath- 
less and dragged Dud outside. There, one arm 
through Dud’s, he led the way back to the dormi- 
tory. 

“Now,” he demanded eagerly, “let’s have the 
whole story.” 

“Well, I stepped on a pebble or something and 
the ball got away and hit Star on the shoulder.” 

“Yes,” chuckled Jimmy, “I saw that. Something 
ought to be done about those pebbles!” And he 
winked meaningly. 


JIMMY TAKES CHARGE 


“But it was a pebble!” declared Dud. “I didn’t 
mean to hit him!” 

“You didn’t!” Jimmy was incredulous, incredu- 
lous and disappointed. “Gee, I thought of course 
you did it so he’d get mad and fight! Are you 
sure?” 

“Yes, I am,” answered Dud shortly. “Don’t be 
a fool, Jimmy.” 

“Oh, all right, then. It was an accident.” Jimmy 
sighed. “Then what?” 

Dud brought the narrative to its conclusion by 
the time they were crossing the campus, and Jimmy 
disengaged his arm in order to slap Dud approv- 
ingly on the back. “Fine !” he declared. “Just 
what we wanted! By the time we put this thing 
through. Dud, you’ll be the most talked-of fellow in 
school!” 

“I don’t want to be talked of. I’m sick of all 
that rot. All I want is to show Star Meyer that he 
can’t slap me and — and get away with it!” 

“Sure ! But it’ll do you a lot of good if you lick 
him, don’t you see? Fellows will call you a plucky 
kid and all that. Oh, there’s nothing to it. Dud! 
Here’s where we make good, old son!” 

“I’m not likely to lick him,” replied the other 
quietly. “I dare say he will beat me to a pulp, 
but he won’t do it before I’ve got in a few,” he 
added grimly. 


99 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“That’s all right, too, but it’s going to make a lot 
bigger hit if you get the decision,” responded Jimmy. 
“No, you’d better make up your mind to lick him, 
Dud.” 

“Make up my mind I” replied the other impa- 
tiently as they traveled together down the corridor. 
“How’s making up my mind going to help ? He can 
lick me, and you know it. And I know it. What’s 
the good of talking rot like that?” 

“How do you know he can?” asked Jimmy ea- 
gerly. “I’ll bet you anything Star’s got a yellow 
streak in him somewhere. And you’ve been learning 
right along, haven’t you? Why, say, I call you a 
mighty clever boxer right this minute. Dud! Yes, 
I do, honest! And — I say, what time is it? Fine! 
We’ve just got time to put on the gloves for a few 
minutes. I was reading in that book ” 

“I’m not going to put on the gloves,” answered 
Dud decidedly. “I’ll fight him just as I am. All 
that scientific stuff isn’t much good, anyway. It 
didn’t keep him from almost knocking me flat on the 
floor this afternoon, did it?” 

“But you weren’t looking for it! If you’d 
known ” 

“Besides, the thing is to get him to fight. He says 
he won’t. How can I make him, Jimmy?” 

“We-ell ” Jimmy studied the question with 

his head on one side and his mouth pursed. At last: 

100 


JIMMY TAKES CHARGE 


“There are two or three ways, I guess. You might 
challenge him publicly or you might just walk up 
and slap his face the way he slapped yours or you 
might 

“That’s good enough,” interrupted Dud. “Come 
on I” 

“Hold on! Where are you going?” 

“To find him!” 

“Well, but — but wait I Hold on 1 See here, Dud, 
you can’t walk into a fellow’s room and biff him, you 
know I” 

“Why can’t I?” 

“Because it isn’t done, old chap. Violation of — 
er — hospitality and all that, you know. What you 
want to do is to find him some time when other fel- 
lows are around, see? Then he can’t possibly re- 
fuse. But you want to make sure that a faculty isn’t 
looking! Better wait now until morning and get 
him In School Hall; In the corridor, say. Yes, that’s 
the Idea. There’ll be a crowd around, and ” 

“I’d rather do it now,” said Dud. “Maybe — ^by 
tomorrow — I might not — ^mlght not want to so 
much !” 

“Oh, that’s all right. I’ll keep you up to it, son. 
Trust me. You see. Dud, this Is a wonderful oppor- 
tunity and we want to make the most of it. You 
wait until the morning and then find Star in the cor- 
ridor between recitations. There’s bound to be a 


lOI 


WINNING HIS GAME 


crowd there. Imagine the sensation when you step 
up to him and let him have it right on the cheek I 
Maybe you’d ought to say something, too, something 
— er — effective. Let’s see now. Suppose ” 

“Look here, Jimmy, this isn’t any silly pageant 1 
I don’t care whether anyone’s around or not. All 
you think about is making a public show of it I You 
make me tired I” 

“Nothing of the sort,” returned Jimmy indig- 
nantly. “All I say is that if you’re going to do it 
you ought to do it right ! What’s the good of ball- 
ing it all up when, by using a little — er — a little 
headwork, you can make a great big hit? No, sir, 
you listen to me. I’m managing you In this affair, 
Dud. Just you sit still and leave the whole busi- 
ness to me.” 

“Leave it to you ” began Dud bitterly. 

“Besides, I’ve got a better scheme, old chap! 
Let’s do it shipshape, eh? After supper I’ll call on 
Star and take your challenge to him. Then, if he 
says he won’t fight, we’ll go ahead with the public 
insult scheme. But that will be giving him a chance 
to accept like a gentleman. And, of course, whether 
he accepts or doesn’t, the thing is just bound to leak 
out.” Jimmy grinned. “Those things always do.” 

“I wish,” said Dud moodily, “I’d kept my mouth 
shut and not told you anything about It. You’re 
bound to go and hire a brass band and make a 
102 


JIMMY TAKES CHARGE 

hullabaloo I I dare say” — sarcastically — “you’ll be 
selling tickets for the fight!” 

“By Jove, that isn’t a bad idea I I don’t mean to 
sell tickets, but we might issue invitations or — or 
something. ‘You are cordially invited to be present 
at an informal scrap between Dudley Baker and 
Starling Meyer at five-thirty on Friday. R. S. 
V. R’ ” 

“I wish you’d quit making a silly joke of it,” com- 
plained Dud. “If you think it’s so terribly funny, 
why don’t you fight him yourself?” 

“I would in a minute if he slapped my face,” re- 
plied Jimmy promptly. “Maybe he will when I 
take the challenge to him. Gee, I wish he’d try it! 
Still, I suppose you’d claim the right to the first 
scrap. Well, that’s settled, then. Come on to sup- 
per now. Better be sort of careful what you eat, 
you know. You want to keep in condition. What 
do you say to tomorrow afternoon before supper 
down at the Beach? We’d be out of sight there and 
it would be handy for fellows to get to after prac- 
tice. No use staging the affair too far away if we 
want a good attendance, eh? Got to consider folks’ 
comfort some, you know. All ready?” 


CHAPTER X 


THE CHALLENGE 


C OME in!” 

Starling Meyer turned from the window 
in Number 17 and faced the door. Er- 
nest Barnes, Star’s roommate, looked up from his 
book and glanced curiously in the same direction as 
the portal opened briskly to admit Jimmy Logan. It 
lacked but a few minutes of study hour and Jimmy, 
with the door of the next room slightly ajar, had 
made certain of Star’s return before starting on his 
errand. Beyond the partition — there was a connect- 
ing door between the rooms, but that was never open- 
ed — Dud was dubiously awaiting Jimmy’s report. 

“Oh,” said Star eloquently as Jimmy advanced 
jauntily enough but with a most sober countenance 
into the radius of light from the study table. 
“Hello, Logan, what do you want?” 

Barnes’ greeting was just a nod, civil but not en- 
thusiastic, and having made it he went back to his 
book. 

“Hello, fellows,” said Jimmy. “Mind if I sit 
down, Meyer?” 

104 


THE CHALLENGE 


“Help yourself.” Star eyed the caller suspi- 
ciously. “This is an unexpected honor,” he added 
sarcastically. 

Jimmy nodded. “Yes, isn’t it? Fact is, I’m on 
a painful errand, Meyer. Mind if I speak before 
Barnes?” 

“Oh, cut the comedy, Logan,” replied Star im- 
patiently. “What nonsense are you up to, any- 
way?” 

“No nonsense at all, really,” Jimmy assured him 
earnestly. “It’s like this, Meyer. I’m here on 
behalf of my friend. Baker. You see, he isn’t 
just satisfied with the way things were left this 
afternoon. He feels that — er — the matter ought to 
be settled more — er — more definitely. See what I 
mean?” 

“Oh, rot! I’m not going to fight that kid, Lo- 
gan. He’s too small. Tell him to forget it. And 
look here, you!” Star’s voice took on an edge. “I 
want you to quit meddling in my affairs, too, Lo- 
gan. I know what you’ve been up to. You and 
that roommate of yours are altogether too 
fresh.” 

“Me?” asked Jimmy innocently. “What have I 
done, Meyer?” 

“You’ve talked a whole lot too much, that’s what 
you’ve done. And you’ve egged Baker on to — to 
make trouble. I want you to stop it, both of you.” 

105 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“Well, I may have talked some,” Jimmy allowed 
calmly. “Everyone has a right to talk ” 

“If they’re careful what they say, yes ! But ” 

“Anyway, that isn’t what I came to see you about. 
I’ve talked it over with Dud and we’ve concluded 
that you ought to give him satisfaction. You see, 
Meyer, slapping a fellow’s face and then refusing 
to go on with it looks — well, a bit funny, eh? Now 
what we propose is that you and Dud meet, say to- 
morrow afternoon at half-past five, down at the 
Beach, and settle the matter in a quiet, gentlemanly 
way. What do you say to that?” 

“I say no,” replied Star shortly. “I haven’t any 
intention of fighting him. All I will do is slap his 
face again if he doesn’t let me alone. He’s been 
telling it around — or you have — that I’m afraid of 
him!” 

“Um,” said Jimmy thoughtfully. “Well — er — 
if you don’t fight him won’t it look as if he was 
right?” 

Star flushed angrily. “Don’t be a fool, Logan! 
I’d take the two of you on and lick the tar out of 
you if it wasn’t beneath me !” 

“Oh, I see! Then I’m to tell Dud that you re- 
fuse?” 

“Tell him anything you like! And now you get 
out of here or I’ll throw you out!” 

Barnes had displayed a remarkable aloofness up 
io6 


THE CHALLENGE 


to the present moment, but now he raised his eyes at 
last from his book and judicially, even hopefully, 
compared the two before him. The result of the 
comparison, however, seemed to disappoint him, 
for he sighed and went back to his occupation 
again, apparently dismissing the matter from his 
mind. 

“And what would I be doing?” asked Jimmy 
brightly. “Fll tell you frankly, Meyer, that your 
attitude is a great surprise to me. It’s a great dis- 
appointment, too. I’d hoped for better things, 
Meyer. The fellows are going to be mightily dis- 
appointed when they hear about it.” 

“So you intend to talk some more, do you?” de- 
manded the other exasperatedly. 

“Me? Oh, my, no! But these things have a way 
of getting out, you know, Meyer.” Jimmy shook 
his head sadly. “This school is a frightfully gos- 
sipy little community.” He got up and turned to- 
ward the door. “If you think better of it, all you’ve 
got to do is just let me know. I wish you’d think it 
over, Meyer.” 

“You get out of here!” retorted Star threaten- 
ingly. 

“I’m going. I don’t know what Dud will say, 
though, when I tell him!” 

“I fancy,” sneered Star, “that he will be a good 
bit relieved!” 


107 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“Dud? Oh, dear, no!” responded Jimmy gently. 
“He’s awfully keen about it. Dud is. It’ll be a hor- 
rible disappointment to him, Meyer. Well, so 
long.” 

Jimmy passed out with melancholy mien, closing 
the door softly behind him and then pausing an in- 
stant to chuckle before he opened the next portal. 
A moment later his expression of wicked glee 
changed to one of utmost decorum, for to his sur- 
prise he found that Dud had a visitor and that the 
visitor was none other than Mr. Russell. Mr. Rus- 
sell, better known as “J. P.,” was the Greek in- 
structor and one of the house masters in Trow. 
Jimmy said “Good evening, sir,” in the most defer- 
ential tones, shot a quick, inquiring glance at Dud 
and then paused uncertainly. 

“Am I in the way, Mr. Russell?” he asked. 

“Not at all, Logan. I’ve finished my business 
with Baker. Possibly I’d better acquaint you with 
it and enlist your assistance.” Mr. Russell smiled 
gently. “We’ve heard that Baker had a quarrel 
this afternoon with another boy and was heard to 
threaten him. As you know, both of you, fighting 
is not tolerated here, and I felt it my duty to drop 
in and warn Baker against — ah — any infringement 
of the rules. He has explained the circumstances 
and I must acknowledge that he has grounds for — 
ah — complaint. But the matter must be settled 

io8 


THE CHALLENGE 


amicably, boys, and I shall depend on you, Logan, as 
an older boy, to see that your friend here does noth- 
ing he will be sorry for. Personally, I believe that 
there Is something to be said for — ah — a physical 
encounter under such circumstances, but rules are 
rules and we are here to obey them. You agree with 
me, Logan?” 

“Absolutely, sir,” replied Jimmy emphatically. 

“Then I may depend on you to see that nothing 
occurs which — ah ” 

“You may, sir,” said Jimmy resolutely. “In fact. 
I’ve already been talking it over with Dud, Mr. Rus- 
sell, and I’m certain he doesn’t intend to make any 
trouble. You see, just at first he was a bit peeved. 
Any fellow would have been if another fellow had 
slapped his face like that. But after I’d talked to 
him a while ” 

Jimmy paused because Dud was grinning and Mr. 
Russell had emitted what was an unmistakable 
chuckle. 

“I’m afraid, Logan, your counsel didn’t prevail, 
after all,” said the instructor, “for I found Baker 
in a decidedly uncompromising state of mind. I 
think you’d better have another talk with him.” Mr. 
Russell arose, still smiling, and moved to the door. 
“My advice to both you boys is to be sensible. Good 
evening.” 

“Now what the dickens did he mean by that?” 

109 


WINNING HIS GAME 


asked Jimmy, frowning perplexedly after the in- 
structor. Dud laughed. 

“He meant that your bluff didn’t fool him a bit, 
you silly ass, if you want to know. I told him I 
meant to fight Meyer the first chance I got. Then 
you came in and began talking too much, as usual.” 

“Oh I” said Jimmy, grinning. “So that’s it? 
Well, now what’s to be done? I put it up to Star 
and he ab-so-lutely refused the invitation.” 

“I guess that ends it,” said Dud. “I certainly 
don’t intend to have any scrap with him now when 
faculty’s on the watch. J. P. says they’d chuck me 
if I got caught at it. He’s not a bad sort, J. P.” 

“Isn’t it the very dickens!” muttered Jimmy, 
plunging his hands in his pockets and viewing his 
chum forlornly. “Just when everything was coming 
around our way, too!” 

Dud shrugged philosophically. “I’ll get even with 
him some time, even if I can’t fight him now,” he 
declared grimly. “Don’t you worry.” 

“Yes, but that isn’t going to help us much now,” 
replied Jimmy perplexedly. “You see, I insisted that 
you were crazy for a scrap and Star will think ” 

“Oh, who cares what Star thinks? Who cares 
what anybody thinks?” asked Dud impatiently. 
“I’m sick of the whole business.” 

“We’ve got to save our faces, though,” said the 

other, shaking his head. “And so I guess ” 

no 


THE CHALLENGE 


His face lighted suddenly. “That’s the ticket! By 
Jove, Dud, we’ll get credit out of this yet!” 

“What silly scheme are you thinking about now?” 
asked his chum dubiously. 

“Why, all we’ve got to do is to tell the truth!” 

asked Dud sarcastically. “I’d say that 
was a whole lot for you to try, Jimmy.” 

“Yes, sir, just let it get around that faculty got 
wind of the thing and, knowing your reputation as 
a scrapper, sent J. P. to forbid you to fight I Great 
stuff, that!” Jimmy laughed delightedly. “Why, 
it’s almost as good as the scrap I” 

“Look here, Jimmy, I’m tired of the whole thing, 
I tell you. Let it drop, won’t you?” 

“Sure I Only we’ve got to have the last word. 
Dud! Now don’t pester me any more. I’ve got to 
dig a bit.” 

But If Jimmy really studied, appearances were de- 
ceptive, for when, during the next hour. Dud oc- 
casionally glanced across the table, it was always to 
behold Jimmy with his hands locked behind his head, 
his gaze on the ceiling and a thoughtfully rapturous 
smile on his face. After study hour was over he 
disappeared. 

Dud asked no questions the next day. As he had 
truthfully told Jimmy, he was tired of the whole af- 
fair. He was still deeply resentful toward Star 
Meyer, but his anger had cooled and he had no in- 

III 


WINNING HIS GAME 

tention of getting into trouble with the faculty for 
the scant satisfaction of being bruised up further 
by that youth. He was tired, too, of trying to be- 
come “a regular feller,” to use Jimmy’s descriptive 
phrase. What the latter liked to call “the cam- 
paign” had been, so far as beneficial results were 
concerned, a total failure. To be sure. Dud had 
enlarged his circle of acquaintances vastly; he was 
now on nodding or speaking acquaintance with fully 
three-fourths of the fellows; but what, as he asked 
himself disconsolately, was the good of knowing 
chaps if they didn’t like you afterwards? He could 
still count on the fingers of one hand the fellows 
who really showed any disposition to be friendly: 
Hugh Ordway, Ben Myatt, Guy Murtha, Roy Dres- 
ser and Ed Brooks. He tried in vain to find a sixth. 
There was Jimmy, of course, but Jimmy was under- 
stood. Of the friendly ones only Ordway and Dres- 
ser could be called disinterested, he decided. Mur- 
tha was friendly because he wanted Dud to make 
good as a pitcher, Myatt because he took a sort of 
proprietary interest in the younger twirler, and 
Brooks because it had fallen to his lot to catch Dud 
frequently, and there had sprung up between them a 
sort of comradeship that, so far, ended with each 
day’s work-out. As to Hugh Ordway, Dud sus- 
pected that that youth showed friendliness because 
he was naturally kind-hearted and had taken pity 
1 12 


THE CHALLENGE 


on him. So that left only Roy Dresser, and Dresser 
was much older than Dud and went with the foot- 
ball crowd and, in the natural course of events, 
their paths seldom crossed. It would have been per- 
fectly feasible for Dud to call on Dresser, but that 
would have required an amount of assurance that 
the younger boy didn’t possess. No, judging by re- 
sults, that “campaign” had not been a colossal suc- 
cess I 

Just now, however. Dud didn’t care so much 
whether he was popular or not. He was very full 
of baseball and secretly consumed by the ambition 
to make good as a pitcher and win a place on the 
first team. For the present that provided sufficient 
interest. He didn’t really believe that he would 
succeed in his ambition; at least, not this year; but 
one may lack belief and still hope, and Dud was do- 
ing a whole lot of hoping. So far he had done as 
well as any of the “rookies” without, however, hav- 
ing distinguished himself in the least. He could 
flatter himself that neither Brunswick nor Kelly had 
been used more often than he, and he took encour- 
agement from the fact. Sometimes he regretted that 
he had taken Ben Myatt’s advice and changed his 
style. If he hadn’t, he told himself, he might have 
showed a lot more by this time. Generally, though, 
he recognized the fact that Ben’s advice had really 
been very sensible and that eventually, if not this 

113 


WINNING HIS GAME 


season, then next, he would find himself better off 
for having followed it. So far, though, the im- 
provement that Ben had promised had developed 
very slowly, and he had days of discouragement. It 
seemed that what accuracy he had possessed before 
had quite left him. He could show speed and he 
could fool four batsmen out of five with his change 
of pace, but when the score got to be two-and-two 
and it was necessary to put them over he was as 
likely as not to be as wild as a hawk. Obeying Ben, 
he still avoided “hooks,” making up his mind to 
leave such things quite alone until he was able to 
put the straight ones where he wanted them. Plenty 
of pitchers will tell you that it is harder to pitch a 
straight ball than a curve, and it’s very nearly true. 
It is, in fact, entirely true in the case of a young 
pitcher who has started out pitching curves to the 
practical exclusion of straight balls. And Dud, 
having taught himself very largely, had begun his 
pitching career on the erroneous assumption that a 
wide knowledge of “hooks” and “curves” and 
“jumps” and other freakish things is a pitcher’s 
best asset. It is not, though, for the simple reason 
that no pitcher ever combined a large variety of 
deliveries with that most valuable of all assets, con- 
trol. “Putting it where you want it” is what counts, 
and the pitcher who can put a straight ball just 
where it will do the most good can dispose of the 
114 


THE CHALLENGE 


' batsman in far better style than one whose wide 
curves and drops and jumps refuse to break over 
the plate. All this Dud learned for himself eventu- 
ally, but just now he was accepting it on faith, and 
his faith often failed him. 

The day after Mr. Russell’s visit to Number 19 
Dud very carefully avoided a meeting with Star 
Meyer. When he left his room he listened to make 
j sure that his neighbor was not also about to emerge, 
i and in School Hall he searched the corridors be- 
I tween recitations in order that he would not find 
^ himself embarrassingly confronted by Star. When 
I you have earnestly vowed to make another fellow 
I fight it is a bit disconcerting to have to pass him by 
meekly! Dud’s endeavors met with complete suc- 
cess until he entered the Field House in the after- 
I noon to get into his playing togs. Then, as he 
I feared, fortune deserted him. The first occupant 
of the room his eyes lighted on was Star, while, 
oddly enough. Star glanced across at the doorway 
at that instant and saw Dud. But that was all there 
was to it, for Star removed his gaze without a 
flicker of recognition, and Dud went to his own 
locker, fortunately the width of the room away from 
Star’s, and attended strictly to the matter of making 
a hurried change of attire. Some of the fellows 
who had learned of the encounter between the two 
the afternoon before watched them expectantly until 

115 


WINNING HIS GAME 


Star, ready for work, left the building' with Weston 
and Milford. Dud avoided the glances of the oth- 
ers as he pulled his togs on. They knew, he was 
certain, that he had sworn revenge against Star and 
were naturally viewing him disparagingly as a 
“quitter.” Had he overheard a whispered conver- 
sation in one corner of the locker-room, however, 
he wouldn’t have been troubled so much. 

“Did you see Star sneak out?” chuckled Jones, a 
rather stout youth with ambitions looking toward 
a position in the first team outfield. “I’ll bet 
he’s mighty glad faculty read the riot act to 
Baker!” 

“What was that?” asked Churchill, a third-choice 
shortstop. 

“Didn’t you hear? Why, Star and Baker had a 
row in here yesterday and went for each other, and 
Davy had to separate them. Star was mad because 
Baker hit him with the ball when he was at bat. 
Baker was wild, they say, and swore he’d get Star 
the first chance. So Davy pipes off the faculty and 
J. P. beats it to Baker’s room and tells him that if 
he doesn’t leave Star alone faculty’ll jump him hard. 
So, of course. Baker has to promise to behave, but 
they say he’s hopping mad and will get Star yet. I 
thought maybe he’d forget and light into him just 
now.” 

“Oh, peanuts! I guess Star isn’t afraid of that 
1 16 


THE CHALLENGE 


kid. Why, look at him! Star’s six inches bigger 
every way 1” 

‘‘That’s all right,” responded Jones, “but they 
say Baker’s a regular terror when he gets started. 
Got thrown out of one school because he nearly 
killed a fellow there.” 

“That right?” asked the other incredulously. 

“Surest thing you know, old scout! Ned Stiles 
was telling me. He knows the fellow Baker beat 
up.” Jones gazed speculatively and admiringly at 
the unconscious Dud and shook his head. “He 
doesn’t look awfully scrappy, does he? But, say. 
I’ll bet he could hand you an awful wallop with that 
right of his ! They say he’s as clever as anything on 
his feet; just dances all around the other fellow and 
does about as he likes. You all ready?” 

On the way out Churchill, regarding Dud in sur- 
reptitious awe, encountered that youth’s gaze, and, 
as Dud at the instant happened to be frowning 
darkly at his thoughts, Churchill was ever after con- 
vinced that Dud was a fellow to be treated with the 
utmost respect 1 


CHAPTER XI 


WITH THE SCRUBS 

D ud speedily forgot all about Star Meyer, 
social aspirations and everything else except 
baseball, for they had their first practice 
game that afternoon and, although Dud wasn’t 
called on to work during the first three innings, he 
became vastly absorbed in the proceedings. Mr. 
Sargent made up one team of seasoned veterans of 
previous campaigns, with Gus Weston pitching and 
Gordon catching, and formed the opposing team of 
the newer candidates, giving the twirling job to 
Nate Leddy and letting Ed Brooks catch him. Since 
it was the first contest of the year both teams were 
on their toes and went into it hard. From the prac- 
tice diamond Mr. Crowley’s second nine looked on 
enviously when the opportunity allowed. 

Weston pitched nice ball for the regulars for two 
innings, mowing down the opposing batsmen im- 
partially and even monotonously. But in the third, 
Ben Myatt, playing left field for the scrubs, landed 
on one of Gus’s offerings and drove it far into right 
center, where neither Star Meyer nor Gordon Parker 

ii8 


WITH THE SCRUBS 


could reach it in time to prevent him from reaching 
third. That put the following batsmen on their 
mettle, and before the inning was over Gus Weston 
had yielded four hits for a total of seven bases and 
three runs had crossed the plate. As, however, the 
regulars had by that time scored thrice owing to 
two singles and as many errors of the scrub’s infield, 
the contest was far from decided. Weston managed 
to survive the fourth inning, although decidedly 
wobbly. He allowed two hits and passed Barnes, 
and the scrubs were yelling for a tally when Hugh 
Ordway fanned and made the last out, leaving an 
irate runner on third. 

Brunswick went on the mound for the regulars in 
the fifth and Dud took Teddy’s place for the scrub. 
After that, as might have been expected, the fielders 
were much busier and runs began to trickle across 
quite frequently. Dud pitched three innings that 
afternoon and performed fairly creditably. Ed 
Brooks, fast rounding into form as a catcher, knew 
Dud’s failings and jockeyed him along with a lot 
of skill and wisdom. More than once Dud found 
himself in a hole, and if he escaped, as he generally 
did that day, it was more due to Brooks than to him. 
The catcher never hesitated to demand the third 
strike when it was due, leaving it to Dud to put on 
enough steam or to fool the batter with an unex- 
pected slow ball, and it must be said to Dud’s credit 
119 


WINNING HIS GAME 

that he frequently delivered the goods. But at that 
he was hammered hard by the head of the opposing 
batting list, and could only find consolation in the 
fact that Brunswick fared but little better at the 
hands of the scrubs. 

Brunswick gave way to Joe Kelly in the eighth, 
and in that half-inning the scrubs almost snatched the 
game away from their haughty opponents. Kelly 
was wild and ineffective and filled the bases with the 
first three men up. Jimmy Logan, who had never 
set the world on fire with his batting, bunted cannily 
down the first-base line, managed to get in the way 
of Kelly’s throw to the plate and not only saw two 
runners score but reached first in safety himself. 
Prentiss fouled out on the second delivery and Jimmy 
was caught going down to second. Dud, whose turn 
it was at bat, had but slight hope of turning in a hit. 
But Kelly had another ascension — or perhaps merely 
continued his first! — and got himself in the hole to 
the tune of one strike and three balls. Dud let an- 
other strike go by and then hit at the next delivery. 
Luck favored him, for Nick Blake, at short, made a 
miserable stop of a weak grounder and threw to first 
the fraction of a second too late, and the runner 
from third was safe. That run brought the scrubs’ 
score to II to the regulars’ 13 and, even with two 
down, the scrubs dreamed of tying it up. But Boyn- 
ton dispelled the illusion by popping a weak fly to 
120 


WITH THE SCRUBS 


Neil Ayer at first, and, since the practice period was 
up, Mr. Sargent called the game. For the succeed- 
ing half-hour the scrubs busied themselves to a man 
telling just how they would have won the game had 
it gone nine innings I 

Doubtless pitching four innings to the tune of nine 
hits and two passes isn’t anything remarkable, but 
Dud left the field that afternoon treading on air. If, 
he confided to himself, he had mixed a few hooks 
in with those straight ones and, perhaps, succeeded 
in getting a “floater” over nicely a few times, he 
would have cut those nine bingles down to three or 
four I And, anyway, Pete hadn’t taken him out, as 
he had Brunswick, which showed that at least the 
coach was fairly satisfied with him. And when, 
while he was pulling off his togs, Guy Murtha 
stopped an instant to say “Good work, Baker: I 
like your style,” the air under Dud’s feet became 
roseate clouds ! He didn’t even recall Star Meyer’s 
existence until, on the way to the showers, he liter- 
ally ran into that youth. And then, instead of fall- 
ing back, abashed, he pushed past the other with a 
fine indifference and rattled the curtain along the rod 
in Star’s face I 

Afterwards, going across the Green in the early 
twilight, he overtook a group of fellows and, con- 
trary to his usual custom of passing them with a 
muttered and doubtful greeting, he fell into step with 

I2I 


WINNING HIS GAME 


Bert Winslow, much to that youth’s surprise, and 
carelessly offered an observation to the effect that 
it had been a dandy game. Bert agreed unenthusi- 
astically, shot a curious side-glance at the other, 
felt some of his antipathy toward him vanish 
and remarked quite cordially: “You’re more of 
a pitcher than I thought. Baker. Where’d you 
learn it?” 

“I haven’t learned it yet,” answered Dud, con- 
quering his shyness with an effort that left him al- 
most breathless. “Anyway, you didn’t have much 
trouble hitting me, Winslow.” 

Bert accepted the compliment as merited, which 
it was, and thought better of the other’s discernment 
and modesty, and while he was beginning a reply 
Nick Blake, walking a few steps ahead, turned and 
regarded Dud gravely and remarked sadly: “I’ll 
give you a quarter next time. Baker, if you’ll tip me 
off when you’re going to pitch one of those slow 
ones. I don’t mind hitting the air, but I hate to 
break my back. Besides, I’m extremely sensitive 
to ridicule. Baker.” 

The others laughed and Dud was spared the ne- 
cessity of a reply by Bert Winslow. “If you were 
really sensitive to ridicule, Nick, you wouldn’t try 
to play,” he observed crushingly. Nick resented 
the insult promptly and battle ensued. Dud left the 
adversaries rolling on the turf, applauded by several 
122 


WITH THE SCRUBS 


spectators, and made his way on to Trow, feeling 
much embarrassed and extremely happy. 

The happiness was reflected in the letter which 
he wrote home the next afternoon, for that was 
Sunday, and Dud, while he sometimes dashed off a 
hurried note on a weekday, made it a practice to al- 
ways fill four pages with his somewhat scrawly writ- 
ing on Sundays. His epistles invariably commenced 
the same way: 

Dear Mother, Father and Sisters [there were two 
of the latter] : 

I am well and getting on nicely. I hope you are all well 
when this reaches you. 

After that he might change the rest of the con- 
tents from week to week, but Mrs. Baker, who read 
the letters aloud to a more or less attentive audi- 
ence, could get through the first two sentences while 
she was still fixing her reading glasses on her nose. 
Today Dud’s letter was far more cheerful than 
usual. In fact, it started right out being cheerful, 
and the weather, generally dwelt on at length, was 
utterly neglected. 

A good deal has happened since I wrote last and things 
are getting pretty busy here. Something doing every minute 
in the hig tent, like Jimmy says. Yesterday I pitched four 
whole innings in the first practice game we have had and did 
pretty well take everything in consideration. Dad will say 
123 


WINNING HIS GAME 


I’m boasting but I’m not because if I hadn’t done pretty well 
Mr. Sargent would have canned me quick, I guess. They 
only got nine hits off me and Guy Murtha who is captain 
and a peach of a whanger only got one real hit off me and 
one that was mighty scratchy. I guess I did as well as 
Brunswick and I know I did better than Joe Kelly because 
Joe had an ascension and handed out passes to beat the band. 
Well, we’re getting down to business here now all right, 
everybody’s doing something, the Track Team has been out 
about a fortnight and so have we, nearly, and the tennis 
cracks are out on the courts and some of the fellows who 
play golf go over to the Mt. Grafton links. They let the 
school fellows play there for nothing, but I guess Charley 
pays them something for the privilege by the year. I’d like 
to try my hand at golf, but I guess it wouldn’t be good for 
my pitching. I’m still sticking to straight balls, like I told 
you last week, but if I can get my control back pretty soon 
I’m going to try hooking them again. I guess you’ll begin 
to think I don’t do anything here at School but play baseball, 
but that isn’t so because ever since mid-year exams most of 
us have been digging like anything. I’m all square again 
with Mr. Gring, but I told you that last week. He says 
if I could write English as well as I talk it I’d be all right 
but just the same I got Good on my last comp and would 
have got Excellent only for punctuation. Jimmy says I’m 
a punk punctuater. I guess I am, all right, too. 

We play our first game the 25th with the second team 
and then we play Portsmouth Grammer the 28th. I’ll send 
a card with the schedule on it so you will know when we 
play and whom. We have sixteen dates this spring but some 
of them aren’t filled yet. It’s very hard to get teams around 
here to play us because we usually beat them badly and they 
don’t like it. I had a row with Starling Meyer in the Field 
124 


WITH THE SCRUBS 


House the other day and he slapped me and Davy, he’s the 
trainer, butted in. I was going to make Star fight but fac- 
ulty got wise and J. P. came up and said if I did I’d get in 
trouble, so I didn’t. But I’ll fix him some other way. 
Jimmy is well and as crazy as ever. He is out for the first 
too and I guess he will make it, anyway he has more chance 
than I have, but I feel very much more encouraged since 
Pete let me pitch all through the last of the game yesterday 
like I told you. I didn’t get your letter until Friday last 
week so I guess dad forgot to post it again. You ask him 
if he didn’t. He will say Pooh, Pooh, but I’ll bet anything 
he did. I’m getting on fine. I’ve met some more fellows 
who are on the nine and everything’s fine and dandy. Please 
tell dad that I’d like it if I could have my allowance a little 
before the first this month because I have to dig down for 
the track team assessment. They voted to tax all of us fifty 
cents apiece, which is O.K. only I haven’t got it to spare. 
Love to you all, 

Your aff. Son, 

Dudley. 

Dud was highly pleased with that letter, for he 
discovered that he had bettered his usual four pages 
by two more. There was besides, he decided, a 
literary flavor to it that most of his epistles lacked; 
and he was certain that his father would chuckle 
about forgetting to post that letter; and maybe he 
would send the allowance right away I 

After it was finished he and Jimmy went down to 
the Beach and, since they had no canoe of their own 
and the punts belonging to the school were hard to 
125 


WINNING HIS GAME 


row and likely to prove leaky, borrowed one of the 
many that reposed under the trees along the Cove. 
They were in doubt for a while as to which particu- 
lar craft to requisition, since it was distinctly ad- 
visable to select one whose owner was not likely to 
want it that day. The difficulty was finally solved by 
Dud, who recalled the fact that young Twining was 
in the infirmary with German measles. Twining 
was only a junior, anyway, and juniors had few 
rights even when perfectly well, and still fewer when 
they weren’t! So Dud blithely led the way to a 
gorgeous light blue Old Town, and together they 
bore it to the muddy water of the Cove and clam- 
bered in. 

“It’s the best canoe here, too,” observed Jimmy 
contentedly, as he dipped his paddle at the bow. 
(Jimmy took the bow paddle because, or so he de- 
clared, there was more responsibility connected with 
that position. Dud, while not deceived in the least, 
never objected, for he had a notion that stern pad- 
dling would develop his arm muscles.) “They say 
that little bounder has heaps of money, millions and 
millions; that is, his dad has. Did I ever tell you 
about the old darkey woman who used to work for 
us? She was telling mother about some man who 
was terribly rich, you know, and mother said, ‘I sus- 
pect he’s a millionaire, Dorah.’ ‘A millionaire. Mis’ 
Logan!’ says she. ‘Bless yo’ heart, honey, that 
126 


WITH THE SCRUBS 


man’s got sev’ral millions of airs I’ Guess that’s the 
way with Twining’s dad, eh?” 

“That’s a peach of a canoe that Ordway’s got,” 
said Dud, after he had laughed at Jimmy’s story. 

“Too fancy ,^’ replied the other as they left the 
Cove and headed down the river. “He has about 
everything in it except a grand piano !” 

“I suppose it cost a lot,” said Dud. 

“I’ll bet it did. I told him the other day that it 
was too pretty to use, and he said he thought it was, 
too. Seems he didn’t know much about canoes and 
let Bert Winslow order it, and Bert got all the trim- 
mings the law allows. That’s like Bert. I guess 
it’s too heavy to handle well. Here comes Brew 
Longley and Foster Tray. Don’t forget to speak 
now!” 

A battered green canoe occupied by two youths 
passed and salutations were exchanged. For once 
Dud managed to get just the proper amount of 
mixed hauteur and friendliness in his greeting. 
Somehow, since yesterday, it wasn’t so hard to do 
things like that. Tray, a football player and track 
team member, laughed as the canoes passed. “See 
you got a canoe now, Jimmy,” he called. 

Jimmy waved his paddle nonchalantly. “Yes, it’s 
a poor thing but mine own. I’ll let you use it. Tray, 
any time you like. I believe in lending to them as 
hasn’t.” 


127 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“You believe in borrowing, too, don’t you?” 
laughed Longley. 

“Anything but trouble,” responded Jimmy, over 
his shoulder. 

They paused near the old wooden bridge beyond 
the boathouse to watch an automobile dash by at 
some forty niiles an hour, and Jimmy sighed as he 
began to paddle again. “I always think every time 
that the old affair will fall into the river, but it never 
does. I never do have any luck!” Beyond the 
bridge, where the river widened as it wound through 
the marshes, they met a canoe at about every turn. 
Many were drawn to the bank, and their crews were 
usually lying at ease above. About two miles be- 
yond the bridge and within view of Needham Falls 
they overtook a white canoe, or a canoe that had 
been white at one time, apparently empty, since at 
a little distance nothing showed but an idle paddle 
and the backs of the seats. 

“That,” mused Dud, “looks like Ordway’s. It 
must have got away from him somewhere further 
back. We’d better tow it home, hadn’t we?” 

“I guess so. Got anything we can tie it up with?” 
Jimmy altered the direction of his craft to run 
alongside the derelict. 

“Maybe we can use my belt,” Dud suggested. 
But at that moment they came near enough to see 
into the white canoe and discovered that it was far 
128 


WITH THE SCRUBS 

from empty, since two forms were stretched out flat 
on the bottom. One had the colored pages of a 
Sunday paper over his face and was consequently 
unrecognizable, but the other was unmistakably Nick 
Blake himself. Jimmy signaled to stop paddling 
and the canoe floated silently alongside. 

“Asleep!” whispered Jimmy. Dud nodded. 
Their eyes questioned. Here, plainly, was a 
Heaven-sent opportunity to perpetrate a joke, but 
what form the joke was to take was not easily de- 
cided. Dud watched Jimmy expectantly, and Jimmy 
frowned thoughtfully, benignantly down on the re- 
cumbent forms. If, he pondered, there was some 
way of fixing a line to the white canoe without wak- 
ing the occupants it would be a lark to tow it down 
to the Falls and tie it up there in plain sight of the 
trolley bridge. But Nick or his companion would 
probably wake before they had accomplished that 
deed. And, besides, there was no rope handy. 
Jimmy was for once at a loss. So, evidently, was 
Dud, for the latter returned Jimmy’s inquiring look 
blankly. The precious moments passed. And then, 
while Jimmy still racked his usually prolific brain, 
Nick’s lips opened, although not his eyes, and Nick’s 
voice murmured: “Hello, Jimmy! How well 
you’re looking. Isn’t he, ’Ighness?” 

And from under the newspaper came the reply in 
dreamy accents: “Oh, rather! Perfectly ripping!” 
129 


CHAPTER XII 


ON THE RIVER 

Y OU chumps!” growled Jimmy in deep dis- 
gust. “What do you think you’re doing, 
anyway?” 

“It’s a sad story,” murmured Nick. “We were 
shipwrecked six — seven — how many days ago was 
it, Mr. Ordway?” 

“Seven, Mr. Blake.” 

“Ay, seven days ago, sir, and ever since we have 
been tossed about in this tiny boat at the mercy of 

the sea and tempest and ” 

“Elements,” suggested the voice from under the 
comic supplement. 

“Ay, elephants! At last — at last ” 

“Get that in about no food nor water,” prompted 
the other in a hoarse whisper. 

“I forgot to say that there was no time to pro- 
vision the boat. For six days ” 

“Seven!” 

“For seven days we were without food or drink, 
and at last, weak and exhausted, we lay down in the 
bottom of the boat and died.” 

130 


ON THE RIVER 


“Oh, so you’re dead?” asked Jimmy interestedly, 

“Dead as anything,” replied Nick cheerfully. 
“You dead, Mr. Ordway?” 

“Fearfully, thanks.” 

“I thought so. When one is dead one’s memory 
is apt to be a bit uncertain, though. That’s why I 
asked. Gentleman here inquired. Very kind of him. 
I’m sure. Wasn’t it kind of him, ’Ighness?” 

“Extraordinarily kind! Most polite. I’m quite 
sure !” 

“The trouble with you fellows,” said Jimmy so- 
licitously, “is that you’ve been lying around here in 
the sun. What you need is a local application of 
cold water to the cranium ” 

“Doesn’t he talk beautifully, ’Ighness?” 

“It’s wonderful,” sighed the other. 

“And it’s my duty to attend to the matter,” con- 
cluded Jimmy. Nick opened his eyes then and the 
colored supplement quivered emotionally. 

“Respect the dead, Jimmy,” warned Nick, “or 
I’ll forget that I’m a lifeless corpse and lay you out 
with a paddle. Who’s there with you ?” 

“Dud Baker.” 

“Ah, the sprightly Baker,” murmured Nick. 
“Salutations, Baker.” 

“Hello,” replied Dud from the further end of 
the canoe. “Hello, Ordway.” 

Hugh cast aside the paper and carefully assumed 

131 


WINNING HIS GAME 


a sitting position. “Hello, Baker,” he said. “Nick, 
I fancy we’re rescued.” 

“Too late,” answered his companion in disaster 
gloomily. “We’re dead. It’s perfectly silly to come 
along at this late day and rescue us, Jimmy.” 

“Well, if you’re dead it’s up to us to bury you. 
Mind if we don’t sew you up in sacks, Nick? We’re 
awfully shy of sacks.” 

“I mind terribly. I couldn’t think of being buried 
at sea without a sack. I suppose you’ll tell me next 
that you haven’t even a cannon ball to sink me with !” 

“He might use a couple of those doughnuts,” 
suggested Hugh, poking with one foot at a bundle 
in the middle of the canoe. 

“Doughnuts?” asked Jimmy eagerly. “Got eats 
in there, fellows?” 

“Yes, sir.” Nick pulled himself up with a groan. 
“We’re off on a picnic, Jimmy. And that reminds 
me, Hugh, that it’s about time we looked for a pic- 
turesque sylvan glade somewhere. Seen any of 
those things, Jimmy?” 

Jimmy, who had been working the light blue canoe 
along until it now rocked companionably beside the 
white one, shook his head. “No,” he answered. 
“Let’s — er — let’s look at one of those doughnuts, 
Nick.” 

Nick viewed him speculatively and then dropped 
his gaze to the bundle. “I wouldn’t want to expose 
132 


ON THE RIVER 


them to the air, Jimmy. They get stale so soon, 
you see. But I’ll describe them to you. They’re 
big and fat and sort of a lovely golden-brown color, 
and they’ve got sugar sprinkled on their circumfer- 
ences, so to speak. Honest, Jimmy, they’re awfully 
tasty doughnuts. You’d like ’em, I feel sure.” 

“Stingy brute ! Come across, Nick. I’m as hun- 
gry as a bear. You’ve got plenty. I’ll bet.” 

“Depends,” replied Nick,^ clasping his hands 
about his knees, “what you call plenty. We’ve got 
only a dozen.” 

“You can have a couple of my six,” laughed 
Hugh, reaching for the luncheon. 

“One moment,” interposed Nick. “Tell you 
what, ’Ighness. Here we are with more food than 
we can eat, and here are two famished mariners 
miles from port. What’s the answer?” 

“Why, we invite them to dinner, of course.” 

“Correct! Turn your old tub around, Jimmy, 
and paddle back to the willows and we’ll go ashore 
and have a banquet. We’ve only got three chops, 
but there’s lots of bread and butter and some cheese 
and a can of peaches. Only we forgot to bring an 
opener, and so I don’t just see You don’t hap- 

pen to carry a can-opener with you, do you Baker?” 

“No, but I think I can-opener without one,” re- 
plied Dud. 

“Wow!” said Jimmy. 


133 


WINNING HIS GAME 


Nick turned with great difficulty and viewed Dud 
reproachfully. “You shouldn’t do that,” he said. 
“I don’t mind for myself. I’m strong. But Hugh 
here won’t get that before tomorrow morning at 
eleven-thirty-nine, and meanwhile he will puzzle 
that poor English bean of his and get faint and 
dizzy. You shouldn’t. Baker, you shouldn’t 1” 

“Get what?” asked Hugh innocently. 

Jimmy laughed and Nick nodded sorrowfully at 
him. “Listen, ’Ighness,” he explained patiently. 
“It was like this. I asked Baker if he carried a can- 
opener with him. Get that?” 

“Perfectly. And he said he could open it without 
one. What’s the joke?” 

Nick cast his hands aside hopelessly. “What’s 
the use? What’s the use?” he demanded. “Come 
on and let’s paddle. I’m sta-a-arved !” 

“How about getting back for supper?” inquired 
Jimmy. “It’s ’way after five now.” 

“We get lost or we have an upset or something,” 
rejoined Nick carelessly. “We discussed that, but 
I forget now just what we decided.” 

“That’s all right for you,” objected Jimmy as he 
and Dud swung their craft around, “but what about 
us? We can’t all get upset?” 

“Why not?” asked Nick, reaching for his paddle. 
“There’s plenty of water, isn’t there?” 

“But, I say, Nick,” remonstrated Hugh, “if we 

134 


ON THE RIVER 


tell them we were upset we’ll have to get our clothes 
wet, eh?” 

“Um, that’s so. I hadn’t thought of that. Oh, 
well, never mind now. We’ll think up something 
going back.” 

“We might let the canoes get away from us and 
have to chase them,” suggested Dud. 

“Perfect I” applauded Nick. “Baker, you have 
i a great mind. Tell you what, my hearties. After 
i we get to the willows we’ll carelessly let the canoes 
j get away, see? Then we’ll catch ’em further down- 
stream. They won’t ask us how far we had to chase 
’em. Even if they do we can be vague.” 

“Maybe we’d better try to get back on time,” 
said Hugh. 

“Squealer!” Nick, in the stern, reproachfully 
j splashed Hugh’s back. “There’s no fun picnicking 
if you have to go home right away and eat another 
! meal.” 

“Oh, all right, old chap,” agreed Hugh. “Only 
; don’t throw any more water down my neck. It’s 
I beastly cold.” 

There was silence then for a few minutes while 
; the two canoes passed leisurely down the winding 
stream, side by side. Westward, the sun was drop- 
iping close to the greening summit of the low hills 
; and the April day was almost at its end. There 
I was a perceptible chill in the little breeze that crept 

I ^35 


WINNING HIS GAME 


across the meadows and made catspaws on the quiet | 
surface of the water. Early blackbirds were flutter- i 
ing along the banks ahead of the canoes, uttering ! 
their creaky notes and simulating wild alarm. A 
fish leaped after a reckless insect and fell back with 
a startling splash, sending widening circles away in 
the amber glow. They didn’t paddle much, for 
there was enough current to bear them along. 
Jimmy frankly shipped his blade and watched the 
drops trickle. Nick’s voice came across the few 
yards of water. 

“Somebody will please say some poetry,” he re- 
quested. 

** ‘Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 

And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds. 

“ ‘Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 
The moping owl ’ ” 

“That’ll be about all of that,” interrupted Nick. 
“If you don’t know anything cheerful, ’Ighness, dry , 
up. ‘The moping owl’ I Where do you get that 
stuff, anyway?” 

“Chap name of Gray wrote it,” replied Hugh 
meekly. i 

“Thought sol Same fellow who did that ‘Elegy 
on a Country Cemetery,’ or whatever it is. He was 

136 ^ 


ON THE RIVER 


a jovial old Johnnie, wasn’t he? Bet you he’d have 
been swell company at a funeral I” 

“If you want something bright and sparkling,” 
offered Jimmy, “I know a nice little poem about a 

hanging ! It begins ” 

“Never mind how it begins! Want to spoil a 
perfectly good appetite? I say, you fellows, we’ll 
race you to the willows. Dig, ’Ighness 1” 

Followed a spirited race around the last bend to 
where a group of willows leaned out over the shad- 
owed water. Victory was claimed by both crews, 
and the matter was never finally settled, for Nick 
tactfully introduced the subject of supper in the mid- 
dle of the argument and leaped ashore with the 
brown-paper package that contained the precious 
viands. Dried marsh grass and the paper from the 
bundle started a fire at the foot of one gnarled wil- 
jlow, and small pieces of driftwood, deposited by 
some winter flood, were piled on. Meanwhile Hugh 
imade the discovery that they had failed to provide 
salt for the chops and that Nick had neglected to 
I bring his folding cup. Jimmy helpfully reminded 
them that it was an ancient custom, or so he had 
read, to substitute gunpowder for salt when the lat- 
ter was not to be had, and so that was all right! 
Nick called him an idiot and borrowed his knife to 
sharpen a stick on which to broil the chops. In 
payment Jimmy helped himself to a doughnut. 

137 


CHAPTER XIII 


CONFESSION 

A QUARTER of an hour later they were sit- 
ing around the bed of glowing coals busily 
concerned with the chops and bread and 
butter. The chops were decidedly underdone in the 
middle although beautifully crisp outside, and Nick 
came in for some criticism as a cook. But each of 
the four ate his share — it had proved rather a prob- 
lem to divide three chops into four equal portions ! — 
and so, if the proof of “the pudding is in the eat- 
ing,” Nick was vindicated. They had also brought 
four potatoes to roast, but it was decided that life 
was too short and appetites too impatient to wait for 
them, and so Jimmy buried them in the ground, 
after carefully cutting them into quarters, and agreed 
to share the proceeds of the crop in September with 
the others, estimating the yield at two pecks. When 
they were thirsty they went down the bank, climbed 
into a canoe and leaned their heads into the river, 
thus, as Nick pointed out, getting not only a drink 
but a bath. 

The doughnuts, now diminished to eleven, were 

138 


CONFESSION 


served out as dessert, Jimmy, of course, receiving 
only two as his share, and were consumed with the 
peaches and cheese. Jimmy’s knife was rather the 
worse for its encounter with the can, but Dud kept 
his promise of opening the latter. They speared 
the peaches out with slivers, passing the can around 
the circle until nothing was left but the juice. Then 
they drank that. Afterwards they tossed the can 
into the river and threw pebbles at ft until it floated 
slowly out of range. By that time it was fully twi- 
light and the April evening was growing chill. So 
they built up the fire again and sat closer, huddling 
together for better protection from the little breeze 
that whispered through the dead grass and leafless 
boughs. For a while no one showed much inclina- 
tion for conversation, but after a while Hugh let 
fall a murmured remark and presently they were 
talking desultorily of this and that, or, at least, 
Jimmy and Hugh and Nick were. Dud, as usual, 
had little to say, and finally Nick remarked: 

‘‘Shut up, Baker, and let someone else get a word 
in. I never heard such a chatterbox.” 

Jimmy chuckled. “Isn’t he gabby?” he asked. 

“Is he like this in the room, Jimmy?” Nick in- 
quired. 

“N-no, and that’s the funny part of it. When he 
and I are alone together he’s just full of words; 
can’t get them out fast enough. In company, though, 

139 


WINNING HIS GAME . 


he’s horribly otherwise. I’ve been trying to break 
him of it, but”— Jimmy sighed lugubriously — 
“nothing doing.” 

“I dare say he believes in waiting until he has 
something to say,” offered Hugh. “Is that the idea. 
Baker?” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” Dud laughed uncertainly. 
“I never seem to think of things when — when I’m 
around with a crowd.” 

“Well, you don’t call us a crowd, do you?” de- 
manded Nick. “Come on now; loosen up; spring 
some of those scintillant remarks that Jimmy is al- 
ways repeating. Know what he does. Baker? Well, 
he tells ’em around and sort of gets the credit for 
’em himself. Of course, he says you said them, but 
there’s a sort of — of inflection in his voice that gives 
you the idea that he put you up to it or — or some- 
thing; if you know what I mean, as Hugh would 
say.” 

“Oh, Dud’s full of bright things,” said Jimmy 
carelessly. “Only the trouble is he doesn’t talk for 
publication.” 

“And you’re his press agent, eh?” laughed Nick. 

“I’ve often wondered ” He stopped. Then he 

laughed softly and Jimmy was aware that he was re- 
garding him mirthfully in the half darkness. 

“What’s the bally joke?” murmured Hugh. 

“Oh, nothing. That is ” Nick fell into 

140 


CONFESSION 


silence again. Then: “Most of the things Jimmy 
tells sound a whole lot like Jimmy,” he stated sug- 
gestively. There was a moment’s silence, broken 
at last by Dud. 

“They are Jimmy’s,” he said quietly. 

“Here, don’t try to put the blame on me !” Jimmy 
laughed loudly. “That’s a punk trick. Dud!” 

“Honest confession is good for ,the soul,” said 
Nick lightly. “Come across, Jimmy. What’s the 
idea? Everyone knows you’ve been touting Baker 
like anything ever since Christmas recess. What is 
it, a conspiracy?” 

Jimmy laid a twig carefully on the fire. “I don’t 
know what you’re talking about,” he grumbled. 

“Oh, yes, you do, old man! We’re all friends 
together, you know, and nothing you say will be 
used against you. That all right. Baker?” 

“Don’t ask him,” replied Jimmy. “He’d tell you 
anything. He’s incapable of the truth. Say, what’s 
the matter with getting back, fellows?” 

“Oh, there’s plenty of time,” said Nick. “Joking 
.-aside, Jimmy, just what Is the big idea ?” 

“Go ahead and tell,” urged Dud. “I don’t mind. 
Besides, they won’t talk.” 

“Oh, you!” said Jimmy In disgust. “What Is 
there to tell? Well, all right, fellows. Only this is 
just between us, understand? It’s a little scheme of 
my own. You see. Dud here is — well, he’s just as 


WINNING HIS GAME 


you see him now. He thinks big thoughts and he’s a 
nice boy, but he’s a graven image when he gets out- 
side his room. Well, he likes fun as much as the rest 
of us but he doesn’t get it because he always thinks 
he isn’t wanted around. He — he’s shy, you know. 
At least, I suppose that’s it. I never was that way 
and don’t know much about it.” 

Nick and Hugh laughed. 

“So I said one day: ‘Dud,’ I said, ‘you do like I 
tell you and I’ll have you mixing in no time at all. 
I’ll make a regular feller of you, and it won’t cost 
you a cent. All you’ve got to do is what I tell you.’ 
So Dud said: ‘Oh, pshaw!’ or words to that effect, 
but agreed to try the scheme. First thing I did was 
to make a list of fellows he ought to know. Then 
we started in and got acquainted. It was hard sled- 
ding because just as soon as I got him into a bunch 
of fellows he’d get tongue-tied. Well, I saw that 
that wouldn’t do and so I began to get off the good 
things Dud said ” 

“All of which you made up?” chuckled Nick. 

“No, not all, honest. Some I did, of course. Dud 
didn’t deliver the goods fast enough. And — well, 
that’s all there is to it. Perfectly legitimate, you 
see, although Dud has had his doubts now and then 
and threatened mutiny once or twice. We’ve got on 
fairly well. I haven’t exactly popularized him yet, 
but I haven’t done so badly either. Lately he’s 
142 ' 


CONFESSION 


} been sort of kicking over the traces and refusing to 
I pull, but we’re progressing slowly. Now you know 
I all about it. If either of you chaps blab I’ll punch 
' your head.” 

“So that’s it,” mused Nick. “Some scheme, eh, 
’Ighness?” 

“Rather!” 

“I’m glad you know,” said Dud, embarrassed, 
“because it’s always seemed so silly for Jimmy to 
go around getting off a lot of funny jokes and cred- 
iting them to me, and then — then for me to just 
stand around and act like a dummy. I suppose we 
went into it as a sort of lark, or — well, I don’t 
I know. I suppose it sounds funny to you chaps. But 
' I wanted you to know.” 

“I knew already,” said Hugh. “That is, I guessed 
a long time ago.” 

“Honest?” exclaimed Jimmy. “Say, that’s queer, 

I because when I asked Dud which of the fellows he’d 
: like to ” 

“Shut up, Jimmy!” implored Dud. 

“Why? There’s no harm in it, you chump. I 
i asked Dud who he’d like to know most and he 
I said ” 

Please dry up, Jimmy!” 

“He said Hugh Ordway. That’s why we butted 
in on you one night a long while ago.” 

“Really? Well, you know, that’s quite a compli- 

143 


WINNING HIS GAME 


merit, Baker. I’m afraid, though, you didn’t find 
me — what’s the word, Nick?” 

“Responsive ?” 

“Well, yes. Or appreciative, I guess; that’s bet- 
ter. If I’d known ” 

“You didn’t expect Baker to tell you, did you?” 
asked Nick. “If you really wanted to know a fine, 
respectable member of the community, though. 
Baker, why didn’t you select me? I can’t under- 
stand you wanting to know this cold-blooded Brit- 
isher.” 

“I think we called on you next,” answered Dud, 
laughing. 

“Did you? Well, thanks for small favors I But 
look here, Jimmy, it’s been fun for you, I guess, but 
you haven’t done Baker much good, you idiot! A 
fellow’s got to work out his own — his own salvation 
at school. No one else can do it for him. Now 
you let Baker hoe his own row, and ” 

“That’s all you know about it,” replied Jimmy 
tranquilly. “Dud is on speaking terms with about 
every fellow worth knowing now and before I took 
him in hand ” 

“That’s all right, but I’d rather have a half- 
dozen real friends than be able to say ‘Hello’ to 
everyone. All Baker needs is to put his chin up and 
— and get out and — and mix!” 

“Sure !” agreed Jimmy sarcastically. “That’s all! 

144 


I 





'* 




i 

( 


A 


I 






“ ‘The canoes have gone!’ ” 








CONFESSION 


But suppose he can’t do it? Suppose he hasn’t got 
the — the assurance? Then what? Why, that’s 
where I come in, do you see?” 

“You’re an ass,” laughed Nick. “Baker, you 
take my advice and discharge your press agent. 
He’s no good. Anyway, you won’t need him any 
more.” 

“It’s funny about being popular, or whatever you 
like to call it,” mused Hugh. “Funny, I mean, how 
some fellows are and some aren’t; and lots of times 
I the popular chaps aren’t the ones you like best, if 
you know what I mean.” 

“Very clear, ’Ighness; almost pellucid,” said Nick. 
“Just the same ” 

“I don’t think I ever wanted to be what you’d 
■ call popular,” interrupted Dud. “I never could be, 
I I’m sure. All I did want was to know more fellows 
and not feel quite so much out of everything. Of 
1 course, being a lower middler I dare say it’s cheeky 
to want to mix with fellows in the upper classes ” 

“Don’t see it that way,” said Nick. “Very com- 
mendable ambition, Fd call it. Shows a desire to 

seek — er — refinement and wisdom, and ” 

! “Oh, let’s get back,” said Jimmy. “I’m freezing 
; to death. Besides, you chaps may say what you like, 

I but I know that without my skillful handling of the 
: case Dud wouldn’t be sitting here tonight listening 
I to you talk a lot of poppycock, Nick. Results are 

145 


WINNING HIS GAME 


what count, and as a — a press agent, if you like, IVe 
produced results. Now someone tell me I haven’t I” 
“If you call this a result,” began Nick doubtfully. 
“Of course I do ! Dud has shown you two chaps 
that, whether he’s a brilliant conversationalist or 
isn’t, he’s a perfectly human sort of a chump, and 
you both like him a little better than you did yes- 
terday, and tomorrow Dud can go around and men- 
tion to a few fellows that last evening he picnicked 
with Ordway and Blake on the river, and the fel- 
lows will think, ‘Now if Baker is in with Ordway and 

Nick Blake he must be all right,’ and ” 

“Don’t be a rotter, Jimmy!” begged Dud. 

“Rotter nothing! It’s so, isn’t it? Mind, I don’t 
say you will tell about it, but you could. You 
won’t, as a matter of fact, because you don’t play 
the game for all it’s worth.” 

“Honest, Jimmy, you’re enough to sicken a fel- 
low,” said Nick. “If I thought you believed what 

you preached, or practiced it ” 

“I do,” insisted Jimmy stoutly. 

“You don’t,” contradicted Dud. “Come on home 
before you talk any more nonsense.” 

“I deny the nonsense,” replied Jimmy good-na- 
turedly, “but I’m perfectly willing to go home. I’ve 
been trying to for half an hour. Help me up, some- 
one. My legs are stiff with the cold. I say, we 
mustn’t forget to let the canoes get adrift, fellows.” 

146 


CONFESSION 


“Oh, rot,” said Hugh. “If weVe got to lie, let’s 
lie decently.” 

“Why lie at all, then?” asked Dud. “Let’s just 
say that we wanted to have supper on the river, and 
— and had it!” 

“Not a bad idea,” applauded Nick. “Who knows 
but that we’ll get off easy that way? Faculty will 
be so surprised when we don’t offer any of the usual 
excuses that they’ll probably forget to put us on 
pro. Anyway, let’s try it.” 

“I’ll try anything once,” murmured Jimmy, as he 
stretched his numbed legs. “I wonder, though, if 
we can see our way back? Bet you we’ll ruh into 
the bank every two minutes! Where the dickens is 
that canoe? I thought we left it right here. And 

where’s ” Jimmy stopped and turned toward 

the others approaching. “Say, fellows, I know an 
awfully good joke,” he drawled. 

“What is it?” demanded Nick suspiciously. 

“Get ready to laugh. All set? Well, the canoes 
have gone !” 


CHAPTER XIV 


MAROONED I 


ONE I” exclaimed Hugh. “My word! But 



how- 


Cut out the comedy, Jimmy,” said Nick. 


“Aren’t they there, really?” 

“Well, you come and have a look. Maybe your 
sight is better than mine. I haven’t my glasses with 
me and so, of course, I may be mistaken, but never- 
theless and notwithstanding ” 

“Well, I’ll be switched!” muttered Nick, holding 
a flaring match aloft in the darkness. “Now how 
the dickens ” 

“I guess,” offered Dud, “that getting in and out 
of them to drink pushed them off.” 

“That’s the jolly story,” agreed Hugh. “But 
they were there the last time I went down.” 

“Who took the last drink?” asked Jimmy. 

“You did, didn’t you? Did you see both canoes 
then?” 

Jimmy turned to Nick in the gloom and consid- 
ered. At last: “I didn’t notice,” he confessed. 
“It was pretty dark then ” 


148 


MAROONED! 


“But I say/’ interrupted Hugh, “what arc we 
going to do, eh?” 

‘“Beat it home, ’Ighness,” responded Nick, “if 
you know what I mean. There’s no use looking for 
the pesky things tonight. I dare say, anyway, they’ll 
run aground somewhere before they get very far. 
What we’ve got to do is foot it back. How far is 
it, Jimmy?” 

“About a mile and a half,” answered Jimmy 
gloomily, “and most of the way across this plaguey 
marsh. Unless we strike across that direction and 
find the Yarrow road.” 

“That would be worse than looking for the 
canoes,” said Nick. “Best thing to do is follow 
the river as well as we can. Come on!” 

“I say, if I fall in you might sing out so I’ll know 
which way to swim,” suggested Hugh. “Tomorrow 
I’m going to buy an anchor for that canoe, Nick; 
that is, if I ever find it.” 

“Gee!” muttered Jimmy. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Nick. 

“I was just recalling the interesting fact that the 
canoe we were in belongs to young Twining, the lit- 
tle beast, and he will be likely to be quite peevish if 
it’s lost.” 

“How inconsiderate!” laughed Nick. “He’s a 
junior, isn’t he?” 

“Yes.” 


149 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“That’s all right then. You can point out to him 
that it’s a great honor for him to have his canoe lost 
by an upper middler. Besides, it’ll turn up in the ; 
morning. Oh, thunder!” 

“I should say so!” agreed Hugh, scrambling out 
of the ditch he had followed Nick into. “ ’Ware 
water, fellows!” 

Dud and Jimmy escaped that time, but during the ; 
next half-hour or so they had their share of misfor- ! 
tunes. There was no moon and the stars were partly 
hidden by light clouds and it was impossible to see : 
more than a pace ahead at any time. They never 
actually tumbled into the river, but they frequently 
stumbled down the bank and only saved themselves 
by prompt laying hold of whatever they could reach, 
as when Nick, walking too close to the edge and i 
Ending himself slipping, promptly clutched Hugh’s 
leg and nearly doubled the catastrophe ! It seemed ' 
more like an hour than a half-hour since they had 
left the willows before they caught sight of the old 
bridge looming indistinctly above them. After that 
the rest was easy, for they had only to break their, 
way through the bushes that clad the embankment j 
and foot it along Crumble Street to the corner of the^ 
campus, their path now illumined by the infrequent ' 
street lights. Under the first of them they stopped | 
to take stock. Every one of them was wet to the 
knees or above and plastered here and there with^ 

' 150 f 


MAROONED I 


the nice, dark, rich mud of the marshes. It was al- 
most eight o’clock and any hope they may have en- 
tertained of reaching their various rooms undetected 
had long since vanished. Nick sighed philosophi- 
cally as he turned to continue his journey, his shoes 
squish-s quashing at every step. 

“Anyway,” he said, “when we tell them we lost 
the canoes and had to walk home they’ll just have 
to believe us ! That is the one bright spot in the sur- 
rounding gloom.” 

“I’ve always wondered,” mused Jimmy, “how it 
would feel to be on probation.” 

“You ought to know by this time,” chuckled Dud. 
“You’ve been there twice already.” For some rea- 
son, Dud seemed less troubled by the impending dis- 
aster than the others. 

Jimmy sniffed. “I don’t know, Mr. Baker, where'’* 
you get your information, but you have been sadly 
misled. The other occasions to which you doubt- 
less allude ” 

“Shut up, Jimmy,” warned Nick. “And, say, 
we’d better part company about now. You and 
Baker beat it up here and Hugh and I’ll amble 
careless-like over to River Street. I hate to 
attract attention. I’m that modest. Nighty- 
night I” 

“Same to you,” replied Jimmy. “And thanks for 
a pleasant party. Although I must say that your 

151 


WINNING HIS GAME 

arrangements for getting us home were a bit — ah — 
primitive I’’ 

“Don’t mention it I Farewell, brothers. We 
meet in prison!” 

Whether by design or accident, Mr. Russell’s 
study door was wide open as Dud and Jimmy 
quietly slipped from the stairway well into the 
first-floor corridor of Trow, and, although they 
didn’t think it advisable to stop to pass the time 
of day with the instructor, they stopped just the 
same. 

“Ah, Logan, is that you?” It was “J. P.’s” voice. 
The two boys retraced their steps and halted at the 
doorway. 

“Yes, sir,” replied Jimmy brightly. 

“And Baker, too, I see. Well, young gentle- 
men, where have you been? We missed your bright 
and smiling faces at supper tonight.” 

Mr. Russell seemed to be in a pleasant mood, 
though one couldn’t always be certain from appear- 
ances, and so Jimmy, as spokesman, smiled his most 
winning smile and answered truthfully: “In the 
mud, sir.” 

“Indeed? Yes, I see. All the evidence tends to 
corroborate your quaint statement. But why in the 
mud, Logan?” 

Jimmy hesitated an instant and then decided to 
make a clean breast of the matter. Mr. Russell 
152 


MAROONED! 


heard him through, smiling pleasantly. And when 
the tale was told he said: “A most interesting 
narrative, Logan, on my word. You show a nice 
sense of dramatic construction. But really, boys, 
Fm rather afraid trouble will come of this. You 
know there’s a rule about being in bounds by six 
o’clock on Sundays, eh? By the way, you brought 
your fellow miscreants back with you, I trust? I 
refer to Ordway and Blake.” 

“Yes, sir; they’re back,” replied Jimmy disspir- 
itedly. Mr. Russell’s tone now wasn’t so reassur- 
ing. 

“And they, too, were — ah — in the mud?” 

Jimmy grinned. “You’d think so if you saw 
them I They fell right in a ditch once 1” 

“Really?” Mr. Russell smiled quite broadly. 
“Well, I suppose it’s all a grand lark with you 
youngsters, eh? Dear, dear, what a thing it is to 
be young! Get those wet things off, boys, and stay 
in your room for the rest of the evening. Possi- 
bly ” He caught himself up. Then: “We’ll 

hope for the best. Hm ! Better look to your ways 
for awhile, though, both of you. How about that 
little matter we spoke of recently. Baker? Any — 
ah — any developments?” 

“No, sir. I— I quit.” 

“Wise youth I Go your ways, young gentle- 
men. Ponder on your sins and” — Mr. Russell took 

153 


WINNING HIS GAME 


up his book again — “refresh your souls with the 
sweet communion ’’ 

The rest was only a mumble. Dud and Jimmy 
stole noiselessly away. 

Fortune was good to them on the morrow. They 
were assembled, a sober quartette, in Dr. Duncan’s 
office after breakfast and gravely reprimanded and 
told that only a diligent application to studies could 
wipe out the stain of their guilt. Promises of un- 
faltering labor being at once forthcoming from each, 
they were dismissed with a final admonition to mend 
their ways and, they thought, a sigh of relief from 
the principal, never at his best in the role of Stern 
Authority. 

After a ten o’clock recitation, Nick and Jimmy 
hurried up the river in Nick’s canoe and recovered 
the lost craft, Twining’s being found lodged against 
the bridge timbers and Hugh’s a half-mile up the 
stream, entangled in a sunken branch. That, to 
all appearances, ended the affair, but in reality 
there was one important consequence that was lost 
sight of, which was the acceptance of Dud into the 
circle in which Nick Blake and Hugh Ordway re- 
volved. It didn’t happen all at once, and for a 
week or two Dud himself didn’t realize it, but at 
the end of that period he suddenly discovered him- 
self sitting with Hugh and Nick and Bert Winslow 
and Ted Trafford in Nick’s room very gravely dis- 

154 


MAROONED 1 


cussing such important subjects as The Value of the 
Sacrifice Hit, Overhand versus Underhand Pitch- 
ing, When to Use the Pinch-Play and The Duties 
of a Third-Baseman on a Bunt to His Territory 
with a Man on Second. Perhaps Dud didn’t take 
a very large part in the discussion, but when he had 
anything to say he found voice to say it, and a few 
remarks from him on the subject of underhand 
pitching were well received. But the main thing 
was that he was there, not on sufferance but, as it 
seemed, quite naturally and as a matter of course. 
He surreptitiously pinched himself, found he was 
actually awake and then, for a moment, was visibly 
embarrassed. 

I don’t pretend that either Hugh or Nick would 
have been broken-hearted if Dud hadn’t been pres- 
ent that evening, nor shall I attempt to guess just 
how much of the friendliness they displayed was 
due to sympathy. On the other hand, they were 
more than willing to have him there, and, when 
they thought of it, were at some pains to make him 
feel welcome. Ted Trafford took his cue from his 
host, and Bert Winslow’s attitude was one of care- 
less toleration. He still looked on Dud with sus- 
picion. Jimmy Logan couldn’t foist any lemon on 
him, as he once eloquently put it to Hugh! Still, 
he didn’t actually dislike the younger boy, and, save 
for an occasional mildly sarcastic comment occa- 
155 


WINNING HIS GAME 


sioned by what he called Dud’s cheek in trying to 
squirm his way into upper class company and the 
first team, he treated the latter decently enough. 
The evening ended with ginger-ale and grape-juice, 
mixed in equal proportions in a pitcher, the scant 
remains of a pineapple cheese and some crackers. 
Ted Trafford and Dud went back to Trow together, 
rather silently since Ted was sleepy and Dud had 
nothing important to say, and parted in the corri- 
dor. Dud reflected afterwards that Trafford might 
have said, “Come and see me some time. Baker,” 
or something to like effect. But he didn’t. He 
merely nodded sleepily, yawned and murmured: 
“Night!” Dud was a bit disappointed, and with- 
out cause. Ted Trafford, who was a big, good- 
hearted senior, would have issued that invitation had 
it occurred to him that the younger boy would have 
set any store by it. As it was, the thought didn’t 
enter his mind. If Baker was a friend of Nick and 
Hugh, why, that was all there was to it. “Any 
friend of my friend,” is the way Ted would have 
put it. 

Followed a week bare of real incident. Dud, like 
the other members of that picnic party, applied him- 
self doggedly to his lessons in an effort to get square 
with the Office again and turned out each week-day 
afternoon for baseball practice. Sometimes he 
pitched for the scrubs and more often his work con- 
156 


MAROONED I 


sisted of serving them up to the batters at the net 
and, afterwards, being relieved by Kelly or Bruns- 
wick, practicing batting himself. The first game of 
the season came off that Wednesday afternoon, with 
the second team as the opponent. It wasn’t much 
of a contest. Errors swelled the score of each team 
and all sorts of delays slowed the game up so that 
there was time for only seven innings. Dud took 
no part, the twirling being performed by Ben Myatt 
for three innings and by Nate Leddy for the rest of 
the game. The second team pitchers were severely 
handled and the first won by the decisive score of 
17 to 7. 

If there was any special sensation in that contest 
it was in the sudden eminence of “Hobo” Ordway 
as a batter. Hugh, going into the line-up in the 
fourth inning, came twice to bat and on each occa- 
sion smashed a long, clean two-bagger into left- 
center. In the field he had only three chances, but 
he took them all. It was only in throwing in that 
Hugh was weak. Jimmy went to right field for 
three innings, made one rather brilliant running 
catch of a long fly, failed to get a hit and retired 
in favor of a pinch hitter in the sixth. After that 
Wednesday game life settled down again rather 
monotonously, but not uninterestingly, for Dud. On 
Saturday the team journeyed away and played Ports- 
mouth Grammar School and won handily against a 

157 


WINNING HIS GAME 

weak adversary. Dud didn’t accompany the team as 
a member nor did he go along with the half-hun- 
dred ardent rooters. Neither did Jimmy. Mr. 
Russell in refusing their request for leave, intimated 
that the afternoon might be spent far more profit- 
ably in study. “J. P.” was kindly but firm. Doubt- 
less his advice was well-meant and worthy of con- 
sideration, but I regret to say it was not followed. 
Instead, the two boys went trout fishing in Three 
Gallon Brook, a mile back of school. Dud used 
flies and got not even a nibble. Jimmy, with a plen- 
tiful supply of angle-worms, landed a four-inch sun- 
fish. As no one, so far as they were aware, had 
ever caught, seen or suspected the presence of a 
trout in Three Gallon Brook, they were not disap- 
pointed. The only feature of the excursion not 
counted on occurred when Dud slipped from a rock 
during the effort to free his line from a snag and 
landed in three feet of extremely cold water. For- 
tunately that happened after Jimmy had landed 
his catch and so they were about ready to go home, 
anyway. Jimmy carried the sunfish back to school 
dangling from an alder branch. That is, it dangled 
until they reached the school grounds. Then it was 
placed tenderly in Jimmy’s coat pocket and smug- 
gled to Number 19. When he returned from sup- 
per he brought salt, and the fish was fried over the 
gas — ^with the door and transom carefully closed 
158 


MAROONED I 


and both windows wide open — and consumed in a 
peculiarly flabby and underdone condition. Jimmy 
partook with gusto, or pretended to, but Dud did 
scant justice to the repast. Jimmy said he was jeal- 
ous. Gus Weston happened in before the penetrat- 
ing aroma of the sunfish had been entirely dissipated 
and asked anxiously what the trouble was. Where- 
upon Jimmy stopped trying to dislodge a bone that 
had worked its way in back of his tongue and de- 
scribed movingly the size, ferocious aspect and fight- 
ing qualities of that fish, recounting with much detail 
the long, exhausting struggle incident to its capture. 
And Weston diplomatically vowed that he believed 
every word of it; and had either of them a rattling 
good detective story to lend him? 


CHAPTER XV 


DUD SERVES THEM UP 

B etween Dud and starling Meyer existed 
an armed neutrality. They passed with cov- 
ert glances, avoided each other when possi- 
ble and doubtless caused some disappointment to a 
certain element in the school who had been for 
several weeks eagerly expecting a fracas between 
the two. The boxing lessons had been abandoned, 
since, as Jimmy pathetically pointed out, there was 
no use getting ready for something that couldn’t 
happen. The gloves were returned to their owners, 
and, robbed of self-defense as a principal interest in 
life, Jimmy gave his attention to playing baseball. 
It occurred to him at about this time that it wouldn’t 
look well for Dud to make the first team, even as a 
substitute, and for him to get chucked back to the 
second nine. So the Monday after the Portsmouth 
Grammar School game Jimmy buckled down to 
make good. Right field seemed the only position 
open to him, and even to earn that he would have 
to beat out Harold Boynton, and Boynton, while 
not an exceptional fielder, was a pretty fair hitter. 
i6o 


DUD SERVES THEM UP 


Therefore it behooved Jimmy to get busy and learn 
to “lam ’em out” a bit better. His first step was to 
attempt to bribe Brunswick and Dud to pitch easy 
ones when he was at the net. Failing at that, he 
sighed and set out to conquer by labor. Jimmy al- 
ways preferred to take short cuts. The longest 
way around might suit some fellows, but he took 
it only as a last resort. Having, however, made up 
his mind to the circuitous journey, Jimmy was 
capable of settling down to the task and seeing it 
through. 

On Wednesday the second team was again de- 
feated, and on the following Saturday Grafton High 
School, supported by a large and noisy mob of pen- 
nant-flaunting boys and girls, engaged the attention 
of the first team. The batting order that afternoon 
gave a line on what was likely to be the final selec- 
tions : Blake, ss ; Murtha, 2b ; Parker, cf ; Winslow, 
3b; Ayer, ib; Ordway, If; Boynton, rf; Gordon, c; 
Myatt or Leddy, p. There might be, probably 
would be, changes later on in the arrangement of 
the players for batting purposes, but it was gen- 
erally conceded that the team as made up that day 
was practically as it would be six weeks later. It 
was likely that Ben Myatt would occasionally be 
played in center field, for Ben, aside from being a 
remarkable pitcher, was a steady outfielder and a 
good hitter. There were some critics who sneered 
161 


WINNING HIS GAME 


at Hugh Ordway’s presence on the nine, hinting i 
at favoritism, and it must be acknowledged that j 
Hugh accomplished little that afternoon to vindicate ' 
his selection for the middle-garden position. Hugh 
had a bad day, missing one easy fly and failing to 
reach first base once. His muff in the third inning 
let in two runs and made the outcome doubtful 
until the sixth, when a single by Guy Murtha 
with one down, a sacrifice by Parker, a screeching 
two-base hit by Bert Winslow and an error by 
third-baseman landed two tallies for the home 
team. 

The score stayed at five to five until the ninth, 
when the home team started a rally. Bert Winslow, 
first man up, was passed. Neil Ayer laid a bunt in 
front of the plate, sending Bert to second and going 
out himself at first. Mr. Sargent sent Milford to 
bat in place of Hugh and Milford came through 
with a clean single that landed him on first. Bert, 
however, was out at the plate by inches only. With 
two gone, a second pinch-hitter was sent to the rescue 
in the person of Gus Weston. As a pinch-hitter 
Gus was ordinarily something of a joke, but on this ' 
occasion he turned the laugh on High School’s 
pitcher, landing on the first offering and sending it 
down the third-base line for a hit that advanced 
Milford to second. Gordon followed with a pop-fly 
that should have been an easy out, but which second 
162 


DUD SERVES THEM UP 


baseman and shortstop managed between them to 
let fall safe. 

With bases full and Nate Leddy up — Myatt had 
gone through five innings and been sent to the 
showers — Mr. Sargent took a chance and let Nate 
go to bat. Evidently the latter was instructed to 
wait out the pitcher, for he stood idly by while two 
strikes and two balls went across. Then the coach 
called him back and Jimmy Logan was sent in to 
distinguish himself. Anyone but Jimmy would have 
suffered from nerves, I fancy, for it is something 
of an ordeal to step up to the plate with two out, 
bases filled and the pitcher’s score two-and-two. 
But Jimmy approached the task with beautiful as- 
surance. Some said he even swaggered a little. 
Perhaps he did, and perhaps that swagger was the 
undoing of the opposing pitcher. At any rate, all 
Jimmy had to do was dodge two wild deliveries ^nd 
trot, smilingly, to first, while Milford ambled over 
the plate with what proved eventually to be the win- 
ning run. Nick Blake brought the inning to an 
end a moment later when he sent a long fly to the 
outfield. 

Grafton High School begrudged that victory and 
showed it, at the time by the half-hearted way in 
which they cheered their successful rival, and later 
by sending a challenge for another contest on High 
School grounds. The challenge was accepted and a 

163 


WINNING HIS GAME 


vacant date a week and a half later was awarded 
her. Since faculty rules prohibited the team from 
playing away from the school on Wednesdays dur- 
ing April and May, a special dispensation was asked 
for and obtained, and the game came off in due time 
and High School went down in decisive defeat, the 
score at the end of the seven innings played being 
9 to 2 in favor of Grafton. 

Before that, however, Leeds High School had 
administered the first beating to the Scarlet-and-Gray 
to the tune of 3 to o. It was a good game and 
Grafton showed up well in all departments except 
that of hitting. Leeds’ pitcher was a hard propo- 
sition and only four scattered hits were registered 
by Grafton. On the other hand, Leddy, who started 
in the box for his team, was found for six hits in 
four innings, one of them a three-bagger, and al- 
though Ben Myatt, who relieved him, held the en- 
emy well in hand, the mischief was already done. 
In the eighth and ninth innings that day Mr. Sar- 
gent used every available player in his determined 
effort to stem the tide of disaster, even Dud getting 
a chance to show his batting prowess and rapping 
a liner straight into the hands of shortstop as his 
contribution to the cause. Jimmy, called into the 
fray in the eighth, managed to get hit with an in- 
shoot and so, luckily, earned his base. It was Star- 
ling Meyer who came nearest to accomplishing any- 
164 


DUD SERVES THEM UP 


thing in the batting line, for Star, after watching 
two good ones pass him, landed on what was pal- 
pably intended for a wide one and managed to drop 
it behind first base some three inches inside the 
foul line. Unfortunately there was no one on the 
bases to take advantage of the miracle. 

As a result of the Leeds game there followed, be- 
ginning on the next Monday afternoon, a series of 
batting practices that for the rest of the week, bar- 
ring Wednesday and Saturday, left no time for line- 
ups. There also followed a change in the batting 
order and a slight shakeup of the team. Bert Wins- 
low took Guy Murtha’s place as second batter, Guy 
following him and Parker slipping into fourth posi- 
tion. Gordon and Boynton also changed locations. 
Milford was tried out at first and for the next three 
weeks he and Neil Ayer had a very lively struggle 
for the first sack. Eventually Ayer came into his 
own again, although had batting ability alone en- 
tered into it Milford would undoubtedly have won 
the place. Jimmy got several opportunities to show 
what he could do in right field and Starling Meyer 
received some recognition in center. Southlake Acad- 
emy was defeated on the nineteenth at Southlake, 
Gus Weston pitching for once a remarkably steady 
game until he was taken out in the seventh. By that 
time the contest was on ice and Coach Sargent sent 
Brunswick in for a couple of innings of experience. 
165 


WINNING HIS GAME 


Experience came his way, too, to the tune of four 
hits for a total of six bases, but luckily only one run 
resulted. 

Track and field sports were by now engaging 
much of the school’s interest. The team had held 
its handicap games the last of April, had defeated 
St. James Academy the week before and was at 
present very busily at work getting into condition 
to meet Mount Morris, Grafton’s principal rival, 
on the twenty-sixth. Over on the big oval ribbon 
of gray-blue cinders the twenty-odd youths who wore 
the scarlet-and-gray stripe across their chests or who 
hoped to wear it after next Saturday, sprinted and 
ran and hurdled, while about the jumping pits a 
dozen or fifteen others strove mightily with shot 
and hammer and vaulting-pole or worked zealously 
at the jumps. Nowadays the audience at the first 
team diamond was smaller each afternoon, and one 
heard much learned talk of dual records, and the 
names of Zanetti and Tray and Keyes and Yetter 
and Musgrave and many others pursued one from 
breakfast to bedtime. “Dinny” Crowley divided 
his time as best he could between Track Team and 
second nine, while Davy Richards, at last really 
in his element, loomed large in importance. Davy 
had a reputation as a trainer of track and field tal- 
ent to vindicate and Davy in the process of vindi- 
cating was a fine imitation of a tyrant. Even Mr. 
i66 


DUD SERVES THEM UP 


Sargent forsook baseball for a space each day and 
gave his attention to the weight men and jumpers, 
for “Pete” in his day had held a college record for 
two years with the hammer and had, as a side issue, 
leaped his twenty-two feet-odd for the honor of the 
Blue. So for one week at least baseball took a back 
seat at Grafton and the real heroes were the slim- 
waisted, bare-legged chaps in fluttering white trunks. 

The ball team met Middleboro High School on 
Wednesday afternoon and had no trouble in win- 
ning a 14 to 3 contest that offered little in the way 
of excitement or suspense to the listless spectators. 
It was an intolerably hot day for May and audience 
and players alike drooped. For Grafton, Nate 
Leddy started the twirling, but after his teammates 
had scored eight runs on the opponents in five in- 
nings Nate ambled off and Joe Kelly tried his hand. 
Joe was not a success, for the enemy took most 
kindly to his slants, and after facing two innings 
of trouble Joe likewise retired and Dud was given 
his first taste of hostile batsmen. 

With the score 12 to 3, Dud was not expected to 
kill himself, arid Ed Brooks, who had taken Gor- 
don’s place behind the plate with the advent of 
Kelly on the mound, was all for an easy life. But 
Brooks was reckoning without Dud’s ambition to 
win a place on the list of battery candidates. Dud 
had warmed the bench and twirled his glove during 
167 


WINNING HIS GAME 


so many games that this opportunity presented itself 
to him as Heaven-sent and he resolved to use all 
the skill he knew and all the control he possessed. 
For a fortnight he had been experimenting with his 
curves again and, at Ben Myatt’s suggestion, had 
even attempted a side-arm delivery that looked 
promising. He had little fear of being punished 
much, but he went to the mound and picked up the 
ball determined to deny any sort of a hit to the 
opponents. That is why he shook his head so fre- 
quently at his catcher, much to that gentleman’s 
surprise, and why when Middleboro’s tail-enders 
faced him in that first of the eighth he worked so 
carefully and cunningly that one after another the 
three last batters on the list retired without even 
fouling-off a ball! The Middleboro pitcher stood 
like a graven image while Dud shot two fast ones 
over the outer corner of the rubber, wasted one for 
luck and then ended the inning with a slow ball 
that floated as perfectly over the center as though 
it had been rolled on wires! For the first time dur- 
ing the game the somnolent spectators showed en- 
thusiasm as Dud dropped the ball and made for 
the bench. Brooks squeezed in beside him and 
thumped him on the knee. 

“Great work. Dud!” he said. “We made ’em 
look like pikers, didn’t we?” 

“You !” laughed Parker, sitting next him. “What 
i68 


DUD SERVES THEM UP 


did you do, Eddie? Baker scratched every signal 
you gave him!” 

“Me?” asked Brooks sarcastically. “Oh, noth- 
ing! I just held him, that’s all! You get up there 
and put your mitt against some of Dud’s fast ones 
and see how simple it is! Say, Dud, it would be 
fine if we could send them down in the next inning 
the same way, eh? Only thing is, that fellow Dol- 
lard, who bats second, is a pretty good hitter. He’s 
made two already out of three times up.” 

“What’s the first fellow like?” asked Dud. 

“Chapman? I guess that’s his name. Plays 
third. Oh, he’s not dangerous. He wants his base. 
Sneak over the first one for a strike and then tease 
him a couple of times with high ones. He’ll go 
after them every time. But Dollard’s not so easy. 
He waits for the good ones.” 

“Then we’ll have to see that he doesn’t get them,” 
replied Dud simply. 

“Well, if you can keep on working the corners 
the way you did last inning you’re all right. That 
ump has his eyesight with him. If he didn’t you’d 
get the worst of it lots of times.” 

Grafton tallied twice more in her half of the 
eighth and then Dud went back to the mound and 
faced the small and stocky third-baseman. But he 
wasn’t hard. Once Dud thought he had lost his 
wish, but the ball rolled foul before it reached the 
169 


WINNING HIS GAME 


third sack. After that there was no more trouble. 
Chapman, if that was his name, bit at a high one 
and missed it badly, let a ball go by and then again 
swung too late at a fast one that crossed the plate 
and retired disgruntled to the bench. 

But Dollard was more canny. Dollard had to 
have good ones. Dud tried him on two that looked 
fair until they broke, but the batter treated them 
with contempt. Then Dud tried him out with a 
slow one and caught him napping. Dollard fouled 
the next one into the stand and the score was two- 
and-two. Brooks signaled for a straight one, hop- 
ing to finish him off, but Dud shook his head. In- 
stead, he changed his position in the box a mite, 
wrapped his fingers about the ball, wound up, 
stepped forward and swung his arm wide at the 
height of his elbow. Brooks had to jump for that 
ball, for it proved a cross-fire indeed, and there was 
a perceptible moment of hesitation before the um- 
pire reached his verdict. But when he did he said 
**YouWe outT so decisively as to make up for the 
hesitation. Dollard voiced objections all the way 
to the bench and let it be known by the manner in 
which he slammed his bat to earth that he was to- 
tally out of sympathy with that umpire! But the 
crowd cheered the strike-out and jeered the victim 
and the next batsman stepped to his place. 

Then, for once, and for the first time since he had 
170 


DUD SERVES THEM UP 


profited by Ben Myatt’s advice, Dud went back to 
his hooks and that third batter swung and dodged 
and swung again while Dud brought the game to 
an end with exactly four deliveries! 

Two days later there came the final cut in the 
first squad and six disappointed candidates were 
turned over to the second team. One of the six 
was a pitcher, but his name was not Baker. It was 
Kelly. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE TRACK MEET 

I T was Saturday afternoon and Dud, squeezed 
into a seat on the little grandstand between 
Roy Dresser and Ernest Barnes, was watching 
the Track and Field Meeting of Grafton and Mount 
Morris. The baseball crowd had gone off to play 
the Rotan College Freshman Team and by what 
Dud considered a horrible error of judgment on 
the part of the coach he had not been taken along. 
Of course, he hadn’t expected to pitch even one 
inning against the college nine, but he did think 
that Mr. Sargent might have included him among 
the substitutes. How was a fellow to learn if he 
didn’t watch the team play? And to add to his 
sense of injury, Jimmy had actually accompanied 
the nine to play right field! Of course that was 
only because Boynton was entered in the athletic 
meet and someone had to take his place, but it didn’t 
make Dud any more reconciled. There were mo- 
ments when he almost wished that the team would 
run up against the defeat that was predicted for it I 
Still, those moments were of the past, for during 
172 


THE TRACK MEET 

the last half-hour Dud had been far too excited 
over the events taking place before his eyes to 
recall the injustice done him. The sprints, the half- 
mile, the high hurdles, the shot-put and the high 
jump had been decided and the rivals were within 
two points of each other. Mount Morris leading 
with 28. Just now nine eager youths, four wearing 
the green-and-whlte of Mount Morris and five the 
scarlet-and-gray of Grafton, were awaiting the pistol 
at the start of the quarter-mile and Dud’s eyes were 
riveted on them. Warren Yetter, on whom Graf- 
ton’s hopes rested, was the second man from the 
pole and, oddly enough, Kirkwell, the Mount Morris 
crack, was at his right elbow. Dud could see them 
talking to each other smilingly, but for all of that 
a bit constrainedly. Then the nine bodies poised, 
there was an instant’s silence and the sharp report 
of the starting pistol sounded on the still air. The 
runners leaped away, jockeyed for positions in the 
first dozen strides and swept past the stand like 
frightened deer. Dud was on his feet, and so too 
were all those around him. Inarticulate^ sounds 
made a background for the strident shouts and yells 
of encouragement. Along the grass a Mount Mor- 
ris youth, an official of some sort, raced beside the 
runners, dangling a white sweater with a broad 
green band on it, yelping and urging. Now they 
were at the first corner, Kirkwell leading and Yetter 

173 


WINNING HIS GAME 


a yard behind him. Tenney, of Grafton, strove to 
pass Yetter on the outside and was followed closely 
by a Mount Morris runner. At the next corner the 
first four were strung out and hugging the rim: 
Kirkwell, Yetter, Tenney and Number 54. Dud 
sought hurriedly for his program to discover the 
identity of Number 54, realized the next moment 
that he didn’t care, swept his gaze back across the 
field quickly and joined his voice in the roar that 
swept from the stand. Yetter ^ as sprinting gamely 
now. Only a yard separate^ him from Kirkwell. 
Tenney was certain of third lace. The finish was 
only a few yards away.. Y 4 er crept up and up! 
The shouts increased. T^ie stand was a pande- 
monium. The officials, packed about the finish line, 
were waving and shouting, too, all but the judges 
and timers. Yetter and Kirkwell swept to the line 
side by side! Or did they? Wasn’t the Mount 
Morris man a little ahead as they disappeared be- 
hind the group there? The tumult had quieted, 
but now it broke forth again and the shouting came 
from the other end of the stand. Across the field 
a half-dozen jubilant Mount Morris fellows were 
tossing their hats in air and signaling victory ! 

“That was a peach of a finish,” said Roy Dres- 
ser, with a sigh of relief. “Warren almost had 
him.” 

“That puts them another point ahead,” said Dud, 

174 


THE TRACK MEET 


grudgingly crediting Mount Morris with 5. ^‘Gee, 
I thought Yetter was supposed to have the four- 
forty cinched!” 

‘T guess he ran it inside his best time,” replied 
Roy. “Kirkwell was better, that’s all.” 

The announcer was bawling forth the result: 
“Four-Hundred-and-Forty-Yards-Run! Won by C. 
J. Kirkwell, Mount Morris! W. H. Yetter, Graf- 
ton, second; A. L. Tenney, Grafton, third. Time, 
52 3-5 seconds!” 

“Wow!” exclaimed ^Roy. “That’s a fifth better 
than the dual record! I told you Warren was going 
some !” 

Dud tried to glean comfort from the fact, but 
those five points stared at him obstinately. They 
were putting the low hurdles across the cinder for 
the final heat, while at the end of the oval lithe 
forms sprang in air to waft themselves over the bar 
nearly ten feet above the ground or to go, doubled 
up like an animated jack-knife, flying into the brown 
loam of the jumping pit. Behind the stand the 
hammer-throwers were still busy. Dud watched 
Jim Quinn launch himself upward with his long pole, 
straighten a tense body and drop across the trem- 
bling bar and sighed with relief. The pole vault 
might decide the meeting and so far Quinn was more 
than holding his own. 

Musgrave and Keyes, of Grafton, and Torrey 

175 


WINNING HIS GAME 


and Capper, of the rival school, crouched far up the 
track. At the finish a handkerchief waved. The 
four figures set, straightened and leaped away from 
their marks and the sound of the pistol followed 
them. Down they came, stride, stride, stride, leap ; 
Torrey gaining between hurdles, Keyes pulling him 
back at the timbers; Musgrave and Capper falling 
behind but fighting gamely for third place. On and 
on to the growing roar of the excited watchers, 
hurdle after hurdle falling behind. Torrey well in 
advance now, but Keyes pushing him for every ounce 
of strength in his body. Two more hurdles left. 
Torrey is over! Keyes is over! A mad race for 
the final obstacle, Torrey again gaining on the flat, 
but Keyes, head back, feet twinkling, only a yard 
behind. Up again and over, almost side by side 
at the next stride. Then the dash to the string, 
Torrey, arms upthrown, breaking it a stride ahead of 
Keyes! Mount Morris shouts wildly and Grafton 
joins, for Ned Musgrave has beaten out his rival 
handily and again the points go five to Mount Mor- 
ris and four to Grafton, and M6unt Morris had 
been conceded first and third places ! 

Dud is a trifle comforted as he sinks back to his 
seat and scratches agitatedly with his stubby pencil. 
Barnes, munching chocolate philosophically, asks 
the score. 

“Thirty-eight to thirty-four,” replies Dud. 

176 


THE TRACK MEET 


‘We’re a goner then.” 

“We are not! Wait till the mile run comes off! 
Foster Tray will win that at a walk, and we may 
get second place too.” 

“Yes, and Mount Morris will win the broad jump 
and the hammer.” Barnes pushes the last of the 
chocolate between stained lips and wipes sticky fin- 
gers on a dingy handkerchief. “Say, I wonder 
how the baseball game is coming out.” 

“We’ll get licked. Here come the milers. 
Who’s the fellow in the blue and yellow bathrobe, 
Roy?” 

“Milton. He ought to do pretty well. He ran 
fifth last year and they say he’s a lot faster now. 
I don’t see ” 

“The bar is now at nine feet, ten and one-half 
inches!” announces a voice, and they turn their gaze 
to see a Mount Morris youth rise in air, straighten 
and come hurtling to earth with the bar on top of 
him. 

“So sorry,” murmurs Roy Dresser. “Hope he 
does it again next time.” 

The megaphone artist trots into the middle of 
the arena and faces the stand, a slip of paper in 
his hand. The voices are stilled as he places the 
scarlet horn to his mouth. “At the end of the fifth 
inning ” 

Deep silence now ! 


177 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“ — ^At Rotan the score stands: Grafton 5 ” 

An outburst of cheers, quickly stilled. 

“—Rotan ii!” 

A moment of gloom, broken by ironical cheers 
from the Mount Morris end of the stand. 

“What do you know about that?” asks Dud won- 
deringly. “They must have hammered Myatt for 
fair! Eleven to five! Gee!” 

“What I want to know,” observes Barnes, “is 
how we got five !” 

Dud observes him in faint disgust. “Oh, I sup- 
pose they gave them to us! Don’t you think we 
can play ball at all?” 

“I didn’t think we could hit that fellow Gibbs,” 
Barnes answers carelessly. “He’s a wonder, you 
know.” 

“Well, even wonders have their off days. I 
guess Myatt had one today! Gee, eleven runs!” 

“I’m just as well pleased I didn’t go. Baker. The 
crowd will be dead sore when they get back. It 
costs nearly two dollars to make that trip.” 

“We’ve just simply got to get this meet,” mut- 
ters Dud. “We can’t get beaten all around today!” 

“I’ve known it to happen,” says Roy unfeelingly. 
“Here they go! Must be two dozen of ’em!” 

In truth there were exactly fourteen, about evenly 
divided between the two schools. They hustled 
away confusedly and went to the corner weaving in 
178 


THE TRACK MEET 


and out, slowing their strides. Four times around 
a quarter-mile track is no pleasure jaunt and they 
knew it. Foster Tray was well in the rear of the 
bunch and he stayed there as long as the pace suited 
him, but at the finish of the first lap he had crawled 
up to third place, with Towne, of Mount Morris, 
and Milton, of Grafton, leading in that order. The 
field was already strung out, for the pace had been 
fairly fast for the tyros. In the backstretch a Mount 
Morris youth sprinted from the center of the first 
bunch and swept into the lead, no one disputing him. 
But he lasted only to the beginning of the home- 
stretch and when the leaders came past the stand 
again Towne was first and Tray second. Milton 
was back in fourth place, behind a teammate. Then 
came three Mount Morris fellows and, after them, 
a straggling line of pluggers. 

The time was shouted to them as they went by, 
but there was too much shouting from the stand 
for Dud to hear it. At the next corner Milton 
hustled past the third runner and fell in behind Tray, 
and Grafton cheered that indication of pluck. But 
by the time the backstretch was once more ahead 
Towne and Tray were yards to the good and both 
Milton and the man behind him were losing ground. 
There was no sign of weariness shown by either of 
the leaders. Towne was running a fine, steady race 
and seemed well within himself. Tray, not so pretty 
179 


WINNING HIS GAME 


a runner, looked to be tiring, but he kept his posi- 
tion to the fraction of an inch, a single stride behind 
his rival, his spikes hugging the rim closely. Around 
the corners they came, into the stretch, to a chorus 
of cheers and shouts and shrill yells of advice, en- 
treaty and encouragement. The gong clanged its 
announcement of the final lap. Fifteen yards or so 
behind the two leaders came Milton, fighting dog- 
gedly to keep ahead of a Mount Morris youth but 
losing gradually. By this time the track showed 
tired contestants everywhere. Towne and Tray 
were already lapping the rear-guard. 

Stride for stride, the green ribbon and the scar- 
let passed the turns and reached the back stretch. 
There was still no sign of a change of pace, no al- 
tering of the steady strides. Now they were half- 
way through the final circuit, moving together across 
the green turf like a single machine. But suddenly 
cries leapt from the watchers. Towne had started 
his sprint! Already a yard separated the two I And 
now it was a good two strides I They were round- 
ing the third corner, heads back, digging for all they 
were worth! Tray was falling behind! The spec- 
tators in the stand were on their feet, hands out- 
stretched and beckoning, lungs roaring forth shouts 
of triumph or of despair. Into the stretch the two 
white-clad figures swept. Surely Tray had pulled 
up again! He had! He was running stride for 
i8o 


THE TRACK MEET 


stride with the Mount Morris man I He was gain- 
ing! Why, there was nothing to it but Tray! What 
a sprint! Two yards between them now, three — 
four! And Tray still opening up daylight and the 
finish growing nearer and nearer! The stand was 
emptying, the audience piling down to crowd the 
track at the finish line. It was difficult to see now, 
but there was a head bobbing up and down a few 

yards away, and another 

Track! Track! Keep hack there! Give them 
room^ fellows F* 

Grafton! Grafton! Grafton F* 

^^Tray! Tray! TrayF^ 

^*Come on, Towne! Mount Morris! Mount 
Morris F* 

^^You can do it! Come on! Come onF* 

Then a veritable babel of sound as a white-clad 
runner stumbles into sight at the end of the throng, 
is caught by ready arms and borne staggering to 
the turf. Grafton cheers fill the air. Another run- 
ner subsides on the grass. Cries of *^Track! Track! 
Let them finish! Everyone off the trackF* And 
then Milton, white of face, dragging his unwilling 
feet beneath him, fighting for breath, crosses the 
line a scant two yards ahead of a Mount Morris 
youth and plunges forward on his face. After that 
they jog in one by one, but no one sees them, for the 
race is over and Grafton has won first place and 

i8i 


WINNING HIS GAME 

third and added eight much-needed points to her 
score ! 

Dud, separated in the confusion of that rush 
down from the stand from his companion, waited to 
hear the announcement of the time, hoping to learn 
that Foster Tray had made a new record for the 
mile. But four minutes and fifty-four seconds was 
not sensational, and so he followed the crowd to 
the pole-vault. The broad jumpers had just finished 
and Mount Morris had won first place, leaving four 
points for Grafton, and the figures stood 46 to 44, 
the Green-and-White still two points ahead. The 
hammer-throw had not yet been heard from. Dud 
learned, but Quinn was sure of first in the pole- 
vault. Dud joined the ranks of the anxious on- 
lookers and watched while Mount Morris’s talent 
tried and failed to equal Jim Quinn’s ten feet and 
one inch, watched while Hanson of Grafton strug- 
gled for third place in the vault-off between him and 
Joy of Mount Morris and grieved when he lost out. 
And then, while Dud was figuring and calculating 
and staring at the unwelcome result which showed 
Mount Morris still a point ahead, a wildly leaping 
junior shot around the stand bringing an end to 
suspense. 

Grafton had won first and second place in the 
hammer-throw 1 Driver had thrown a hundred and 
thirty-nine feet and four inches! And Gowen had 
182 


THE TRACK MEET 


done almost as well I And Mount Morris’s best 
was only 

But Dud didn’t care what Mount Morris’s best 
had been! He was scrawling a big black 8 on his 
program and shouting to no one in particular: 

“What do you know about that? Grafton, 57; 
Mount Morris, 51 1 Well, I guess I Six points 
to the good! Oh, we’re not so bad, not so bad! 
Fifty-seven to fifty-one I What do you know about 
that?” 

No one heard him, I fancy, for there was a great 
deal of noise about that time. 


CHAPTER XVII 


BASEBALL, TENNIS AND OYSTERS 

T here was yet nearly three-quarters of an 
hour before supper time and Dud, still 
elated and excited over the track victory, 
turned his steps to River Street and, skirting the 
school grounds, swung west and made for the sta- 
tion. The ball team, unless it missed its connection 
at the Junction, would be in at a quarter to six. Dud 
was not alone in his journey to the station, for the 
carriages bearing the Mount Morris athletes passed 
him half-way along the shaded village road and 
several boys, fortunate youths living nearby who 
had procured leave of absence over Sunday, were 
trailing along, suit-cases in hand. Dud witnessed 
the departure of the Mount Morris track team and 
the fellows off for home and then, seated on a bag- 
gage-truck, watched the shadows creep down the 
hillside across the tracks and thought of a great 
many things. He speculated on what had happened 
at Rotan to result in Grafton’s defeat, wondered 
whether by any stroke of fortune the Scarlet-and- 
Gray had redeemed herself in the later innings and 
184 


BASEBALL, TENNIS AND OYSTERS 


\ then tried to imagine himself in the box for Graf- 
ton, facing those doughty Rotan freshies and mow- 
ing them down one-two-three! He couldn’t quite 
visualize the scene, however, and gave up with a 
sigh. Then he wondered how long it would be be- 
fore Mr. Sargent would let him start a game, and 
what would happen when he did! And at that in- 
stant there was a whistle far down the track, the 
few loiterers came to life along the platform and 
the baggage man requisitioned his truck. 

Jimmie was one of the first off the train and was 
all for returning to school in the barge until Dud 
reminded him that he had walked all the way over 
to meet him and didn’t propose to pay any fifteen 
cents to ride back. Whereupon Jimmie good- 
naturedly set out with his chum on foot. 

“Twelve to seven,” he answered in reply to Dud’s 
request for the final figures. “What was the mat- 
ter? Why, nothing much, except that we couldn’t 
hit that pitcher of theirs and they slammed Myatt 
all over the lot in the third. Why the dickens 
Pete didn’t yank him out I don’t know. Maybe it’s 
just as well he didn’t, though. I guess they’d have 
battered Leddy something brutal. Those dubs sure 
can hit the pill, son!” 

“How did you get on?” asked Dud. 

“Rotten, thanks! I muffed a peach of a fly and 
let two runs cross, worse luck ! It was in that awful 

185 


WINNING HIS GAME 


third. The sun got square in my eyes just at the 
last moment. I had the old thing sighted nicely 
until I had to drop my hands to make the catch. 
Then it went plum through ’em. There were three 
on bases and so two of them scored. The other 
one could have, too, if he’d had any sense, for it 
took me about ten seconds to find the ball after I 
muffed it. But the fellow slowed up at third and 
by that time it was too late.” 

“Did you hit any?” 

“I got one, and it was a corker. I’d have had 
two bases on it if Blake hadn’t held me up at first, 
the chump I I wasn’t awfully strong with the stick. 
Dud, but I got a base every time I went up !” 

“You did? How, for pity’s sake?” 

“Well, the first time I rolled one in front of 
base and the catcher threw to second to get Ordway. 
He didn’t, though, for Hobo’s a regular flash on the 
bases, and we were both safe. The next time I got 
pinked in the arm, the next time I hit between short 
and third — some little sizzler, that was, old scout! — 
and the last time I worked Mr. Pitcher for a 
pass.” 

“Gee, you’re a lucky chap,” said Dud enviously. 

“Lucky? Nothing of the sort. Brains, son, 
brains! Besides, do you call it lucky to have a 
long, easy fly go right through your fingers? Huh! 
Luck didn’t do anything for little Jimmy today! 

i86 


BASEBALL, TENNIS AND OYSTERS 


Say, how’d the meet come out? Heard we’d won it, 
but what was the score?” 

They talked track meeting until the campus was 
reached and then Dud returned to the subject of the 
ball game. ‘‘They tried Star Meyer in center for 
a couple of innings; Parker got his leg spiked and 
Star wasn’t so bad. Made a pretty catch of a long 
one that went nearly to the fence and managed to 
beat out a bunt in the ninth. I suppose the first 
thing I know I’ll have to down him as well as Boyn- 
ton.” , 

Dud looked surprised. “Do you think you’ve 
got a show, Jimmy?” he inquired. 

“Why not?” asked the other, bristling. “Boyn- 
ton’s not much better than I am. He muffs ’em, too, 
now and then. Of course, he’s hitting better, but 
I’ll wager he doesn’t get to first any oftener. But 
if they go and lug Star into the business, why, 
that’s different. I can’t win out against the whole 
school I” 

“But you say they played Star in center. And 
you’re after right, aren’t you?” 

“I’m after anything I can get, son. A fellow 
who can play center can play right or left, can’t 
he? An outfielder’s just an outfielder, you see, and 
you can’t play more than three of ’em at a time — 
and get away with it. Just now there are about six 
of us, all trying for three jobs. I wish Star Meyer 
187 


WINNING HIS GAME 

would go soak his head and not butt in on base 
ball!” 

Dud laughed. “You might suggest it to him, 
Jimmy. Who pitched besides Myatt? Did Bruns- 
wick get in?” 

“Nobody. Ben went the distance. They couldn’t 
touch him much after that rotten third. Got a 
couple of hits in the fifth and about one each in- 
ning after that. They made their last run in the 
eighth with two down. A fellow cracked a two- 
bagger down the left foul-line and tried to steal 
third, and did it because Winslow let the ball drop. 
Then the next fellow hit an easy one to Ayer and 
Myatt didn’t cover base in time and the chap on 
third scrambled in. I guess it was just as well Pete 
didn’t derrick Ben, after all, because he certainly 
pitched a corking game after that third inning. Gee, 
but I’m hungry! Wish I was at training table,” he 
added wistfully. “They get steaks there!” 

They went over to Nick Blake’s room after sup- 
per and found Hugh and Bert and Guy Murtha 
there, and there was much baseball talked and many 
“might-have-beens” discussed. Dud, as a non-par- 
ticipant, had little to say, and Hugh, who might 
have talked a good deal since he had rather dis- 
tinguished himself by his work at the bat and on the 
bases, was almost as silent. After awhile, on the 
excuse of showing Dud a new book, Hugh led the 
i88 


BASEBALL, TENNIS AND OYSTERS 


other off upstairs and they settled down full-length 
on the window-seat, beside the open casements, and 
had a fine, chummy talk. Dud could talk well 
enough when there was but a single listener, and to- 
night Hugh found the younger boy far from dull. 
By the time Bert Winslow came in, yawning, they 
had discovered numerous bonds of sympathy such as 
mutual likes and dislikes and an intense desire to 
make good at baseball. Hugh, entering the game 
as the veriest tyro and with a deal of doubt and 
not much enthusiasm, was now a rabid “fan” and 
almost amusingly eager to make a name for him- 
self. 

Bert, I think, wanted to go to bed, but was too 
polite to start while there was a visitor present, and 
so toppled into a chair and joined the conversation. 
Dud realized that Bert didn’t care very much for 
him and so tried to get away a few minutes after 
the other’s advent, but Hugh wouldn’t have it. 

“Oh, sit down and behave yourself, Baker! It 
isn’t late. I say, Bert, Baker and I have been dis- 
covering that we have lots of things in common, if 
you know what I mean.” 

“Really?” Bert stifled a yawn. “Such as what, 
’Ighness?” 

“Oh, baseball, for one, you know. Tennis, too. 
And oysters ” 

“Oysters !” 


189 


WINNING HIS GAME 


‘‘Yes. You see I happened to think that a dozen 
nice cold raw oysters would taste corking. They 
would, wouldn’t they?” 

“Out of season, you chump.” 

“Never! That’s only prejudice, old chap. Well, 
anyway, oysters was one thing — were one thing, I 
should say. English is beastly confusing at times, 
eh? And then we found that Baker knew my part 
of the country, down Maryland way, you know. 
He comes from Delaware.” 

“So would Ij” laughed Bert. 

“Delaware,” replied Dud, smiling, “is small but 
select. Where’s your home, Winslow?” 

“Pennsylvania; Shrevesport. Know it?” 

Dud shook his head. “Some of my folks lived 
in Pennsylvania once, a good many years ago.” 

“It’s a good state. They were foolish to leave 
it,” yawned Bert. “Hope they didn’t have to?” 

“Why, in a way I believe they did. You see 
one of them was an officer in the American Army, 
and when Howe occupied Philadelphia they thought 
it might not be healthy.” 

“Oh,” said Bert. Hugh smiled. 

“Still,” continued Bert, “they needn’t have gone 
to Delaware, eh?” 

“I don’t think they did just then. A couple of 
them were with Washington at Valley Forge. I 
think the women went to New Jersey until Philadel- 
190 


BASEBALL, TENNIS AND OYSTERS 


phia was evacuated again. I don’t know just what 
happened then. We’ve been living in Delaware 
only since my grandfather’s time. He moved there 
from Philadelphia to improve his state.” 

“Improve his state? You mean he was — was 
hard up?” asked Bert suspiciously. 

“I can’t say. I’ve been told it was to improve 
his state. That’s all I know.” 

Hugh laughed. “You began it, Bert! Honors 
are even. As judge of the debate, I declare it a 
draw.” 

Bert smiled slowly. Then: “All right, Baker,” 
he said amiably, “you win! Fact is, I don’t know 
anything about Delaware or a thing against it. 
Sorry if I trod on your toes.” 

“You didn’t, Winslow; I moved them out of the 
way,” laughed Dud. 

After the latter had taken his departure and the 
two roommates were preparing for bed, Hugh heard 
a grunt from the opposite chamber. “What’s troub- 
ling you?” he called. 

“Nothing,” was the answer. “I was just think- 
ing that that kid isn’t such a fool, after all, eh?” 

“Well,” replied Hugh, winking at himself in the 
glass, “I rather fancy he had you, old top.” 

Bert’s only response was another grunt, but it 
sounded assenting. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


DUD GOES TO THE RESCUE 

G rafton had now played seven contests 
with outside teams and had won five and 
lost two. Six games remained; seven in 
case it became necessary to play a third game with 
Mount Morris. On the whole the nine had showed 
average strength. The pitching had been good and 
defensively the team had more than held its own 
against contenders. But both Coach Sargent and 
Captain Murtha would have been anything but dis- 
pleased if the batting had been heavier or had even 
shown promise of improvement. The remaining 
games were all, with the exception of that with Yar- 
row High School, scheduled just before the second 
Mount Morris contest, hard ones. St. James Acad- 
emy especially was looked on as a difficult opponent, 
and Lawrence Textile School as scarcely less dan- 
gerous. Both teams boasted pitchers of reputation, 
and unless Grafton’s stick work improved she was 
not likely to pile up much of a score against either 
visitor. Of course, it could be argued that a team 
with a perfect defense is in no danger of defeat, but 
192 


DUD GOES TO THE RESCUE 


on the other hand, a team with no power of attack 
can’t win games. And Guy Murtha, being captain 
and in his last year at school, naturally wanted very 
much to come off victor in those remaining contests. 
Fortunately, the St. James and Lawrence Textile 
games were to be played on Lothrop Field, a cir- 
cumstance which would aid to some extent. The 
meeting with Corliss College was to be played away 
from home, but Corliss — or Careless, as the Graf- 
tonians liked to call it — while strong, was not the 
problem that either of the other two was. As for 
Yarrow High — well, that was only a practice game 
to fill in between the first Mount Morris engagement 
on the ninth of June, which was a Saturday, and 
the second one, which fell on the following Friday, 
the Mount Morris Class Day. In case each of the 
ancient rivals secured a game the play-off would 
be at Grafton the next day, the teams remaining 
after the close of the schools to settle the contro- 
versy. 

On the Monday succeeding their defeat at Rotan 
the players were given a particularly strenuous after- 
noon of it. With the exception of Gordon Parker, 
whose leg still protested at the injury done it by 
a Rotan baseman’s spikes, all the players were out 
and not one was spared, unless we exempt Ben 
Myatt. Dud put in a hard afternoon, for he pitched 
six innings for the scrubs and was fairly well ham- 
193 


WINNING HIS GAME 

mered. Still, he managed to keep the hits of the 
regulars so well scattered that Mr. Sargent was sat- 
isfied to leave him on the mound until, in the sev- 
enth, it became advisable to let a pinch hitter take 
his place. After that Weston finished up for the 
scrubs and was so erratic that the one-run lead 
handed over to him by Dud soon vanished, the regu- 
lars winning out by the score of 9 to 6. When Dud 
heard the result in the Field House later he tried 
to be sorry for Weston, but the effort wasn’t very 
successful. Dud, you see, was already entertaining 
visions of pitching a half-game or so against Mount 
Morris and thus winning his letter. Not that the 
letter part of it interested him so much, however. 
Just the glory of being in a Mount Morris game 
would be enough for him. Of course, he couldn’t 
figure out as yet just how that desirable result was 
to come about. There was Ben Myatt for the first 
game and Nate Leddy for the second, or the other 
way around, with Weston to take a hand if needed. 
As for Brunswick, Dud wasn’t worrying about him. 
Brunswick was keeping along at about the same 
pace he had begun the season on, neither worse nor 
better, while Dud could honestly assure himself that 
he was improving from day to day, or, at least, 
from game to game. And he didn’t have to rely 
wholly on his own verdict, for others had seen 
the improvement and told him of it. Ben Myatt 
194 


DUD GOES TO THE RESCUE 


had praised him warmly, Captain Murtha had had 
a good word more than once and Mr. Sargent had 
let Dud see that he wasn’t blind to the latter’s grow- 
ing ability. 

But Dud was forced to presuppose a third game 
in the big series before he could see himself turn- 
ing back the Mount Morris hitters, and a third 
game might not materialize. Of course, if Gus 
Weston kept on blowing up every time he went into 
the points, why, that would improve Dud’s chances 
a whole lot, and it was this thought that made it diffi- 
cult for Dud to grieve over the loss of that game 
to the scrubs ! With Weston out of the way 

But Weston was an old hand, had been pitching 
for three years and was just as likely to steady down 
again the next time and send his stock soaring again. 
All that was to be done, reflected Dud, was to hope 
for the best — which, from Gus Weston’s point of 
view, was the worst I — and keep right on getting 
better and better every day. He didn’t wish any- 
one ill luck, but if only Leddy might have a slight 
attack of measles or something and Gus Weston de- 
velop a bum wing — well. Dud was forced to admit 
that it would be Providential ! 

But the measles didn’t afflict Leddy nor did Wes- 
ton complain of trouble in his arm, and practice went 
on each day and Dud pitched or didn’t pitch but 
always stood in front of the net and took his turn 

195 


WINNING HIS GAME 


at “looking like a silly goat,’’ to use his own expres- 
sion, while he tried to connect with the puzzling of- 
ferings of Leddy or Weston or Brunswick. 

St. James descended like a wolf on the fold on 
Wednesday and took Grafton’s measure without a 
great deal of trouble. To be sure, the game went 
to the fifth inning before St. James solved Teddy’s 
slants and by that time Grafton had herself assailed 
the opposing twirler for three hits and scored one 
run. But when the visitors did take to Teddy’s ways 
they took enthusiastically. Nate got through the 
fifth with difficulty, some brainless base-running on 
the part of the enemy aiding him out of a tight place, 
but in the sixth, after the bases were filled with 
only one out and two runs already across, he was 
retired from service and Myatt went in to save the 
day. And Myatt might have done it had he been 
backed by errorless fielding, but Nick Blake booted 
one in the seventh and Ayer fumbled a heave a min- 
ute later and two more runs came over. Grafton 
managed to add to her score in the eighth, increas- 
ing it to two when Winslow cracked out a two-bag- 
ger after Nick Blake had been passed to first and 
had stolen second. But that was the last of the 
home team’s scoring, while, just to clinch the game, 
St. James broke through with a couple of hits, one 
good for two bases, and added a fifth run in the 
ninth. Grafton tried everything she knew in the 
196 


DUD GOES TO THE RESCUE 


effort to start a rally in the last half of that in- 
ning, but the best she could do was to get Ayer as far 
as third base, at which station he remained while 
Hugh Ordway reached first on a weak infield hit 
that bounded erratically, and Jimmy, batting for 
Boynton, hit into a double, his luck for once desert- 
ing him. So 5 to 2 was the final score, and it pretty 
fairly represented the merits of the two teams. St. 
James had been there with the hits when hits meant 
runs and Grafton had failed to show any attack 
worthy the name. In view of results, it was cold 
comfort to know that, outside two errors and a 
wild pitch by Leddy, she had played an excellent 
defensive game. Results were what counted and 
another defeat had been scored up against Grafton. 

That game came off on the last day but one in 
May, and on Friday June came in with a spell of 
torrid weather. The heat combined with the knowl- 
edge of impending final examinations tended to rath- 
er take the starch out of fellows, and the ball players 
were no exception. Practice became half-hearted, in 
spite of Guy Murtha’s impassioned pleas and scold- 
ings, and when Saturday dawned things looked bad 
for Grafton as regarded that Lawrence Textile con- 
test. Most of the fellows were pulling their feet be- 
hind ‘them and wearing worried frowns. The mer- 
cury climbed up to eighty-four at noon that day and 
what breeze had made life bearable in the forenoon 
197 


WINNING HIS GAME 


died away entirely. Lawrence arrived shortly after 
one o’clock and, after getting a taste of conditions in 
the region of Grafton, willingly consented to a post- 
ponement of the start of the game from two-thirty 
to three o’clock. The delay, however, was of not 
much avail, for at the half-hour it was just as hot 
as it had been at two-thirty, and the spectators went 
to the field armed with newspapers and fans and all 
sorts of devices to shield their perspiring counte- 
nances. 

Coach Sargent again altered the batting order. 
Parker, while probably able to get in, was not used 
and Jimmy took his place in center field. Hugh 
Ordway went to third place on the list and Jimmy to 
seventh. Ben Myatt started the game, with Gor- 
don behind the bat. Lawrence’s twirler was a tall, 
able-looking chap of about twenty years, unless ap- 
pearances were deceptive, named Fairway. Nick 
Blake was responsible for an excruciating pun when, 
during Grafton’s third time at bat, he confided to 
Jimmy that it looked as if that pitcher was in a fair 
way to beat them. Jimmy charitably assumed that 
Nick was affected by the heat. Up to that time 
neither team had presented more than three men at 
the plate in an inning, the two pitchers going very 
smoothly and working the corners for all they were 
worth. But in that last of the third the luck broke 
for the home team. 


198 


DUD GOES TO THE RESCUE 


Jimmy, surviving Nick’s pun, chose a likely bat 
and took his stand. Being first man up, it was re- 
quired of Jimmy that he secure his base by any 
method short of robbery. Fairway sneaked the 
first one over on him and teased him with a slow 
ball, which Jimmy wisely let pass. After that an 
attempt to bunt resulted in a foul down the third- 
base side. With two against him, Jimmy took a 
firmer grip of his bat and bent all his energies to 
the task. Naturally, Fairway could afford to waste 
a ball, and did so, and it was two-and-two. Jimmy 
took heart. The next one looked good and he swung 
briskly. Another foul resulted, the first-baseman 
almost making the catch. Another offering curved 
up to him and again he laid his bat against it and 
again it went foul. Fairway dragged his sleeve 
across his perspiring face, had a good look at the 
signals and unlimbered. The ball shot in, knee-high 
and looking good, and Jimmy started his swing. 
But something warned him in time and he recovered 
just as the ball took a most deceptive drop in front 
of the plate. 

“Ball — three I” called the umpire. Jimmy grinned 
and hitched his trousers. From the bench came en- 
couraging and approving cries. Jimmy stepped out 
of the box and wiped his damp hands in the dust. 
Then he wiped them on his trousers. Then he 
stepped back with bat poised. 

199 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“All right, Fairy!” called the catcher. “Right 
over now, old man!” 

Jimmy’s smile broadened. “Fairy” was such an 
amusing title for that tall, husky youth down there ! 
Then the ball was singing up to him, his bat was 
swinging at it, there was a slap and Jimmy was leg- 
ging it to first. But again he had fouled, and again 
the Fates that rule over the lives of such as James 
Townsend Logan came to his rescue. The catcher, 
running back with gaze set skyward, hands poised 
for the descending ball, managed at the last instant 
to get the sun’s rays fairly in his eyes. The ball 
struck his mitten, bounded out, was juggled and 
dropped to the sod. A shrill shout of joy arose from 
the Grafton bench. The catcher angrily sped 
the ball to third and looked for his mask in a 
very disgruntled manner. Jimmy held it out to 
him. 

“Hard luck,” said Jimmy consolingly. “Next 
time I’ll put it where you can catch it.” 

The Lawrence backstop grunted. 

That trifling incident proved psychological, as 
many trifling incidents do in baseball, and Fairway’s 
next attempt at a strike passed a foot wide of the 
base, and Jimmy, dropping his bat, trotted to base 
amidst the plaudits and laughter of the spectators. 
The coachers got busy on the instant. Captain Mur- 
tha at first and Bert Winslow at third, and sent a 


200 


DUD GOES TO THE RESCUE 


veritable fusillade of interesting remarks across the 
diamond. 

“On your toes, Jimmy! Take a lead! Watch 
his arm! Look out! Up again! At a boy! Here 
we go ! Go on ! Go on ! Who-oa!” 

Jimmy, hooking a leg back to the bag, grinned, 
climbed to his feet again, shook the dust from his 
togs and inched along the base line. Fairway gave 
him up after two attempts and turned his attention 
to Pete Gordon. Gordon was there to sacrifice, of 
course, and the safest way to do it was to bunt. 
But Pete was the slugging kind of a hitter, the sort 
who doesn’t very frequently connect, but slams out 
wicked liners or screeching flies when he does. 
Bunting, therefore, was not his strong suit, and his 
two attempts failed, the first one going foul and the 
second resulting in a harmless swing against the 
atmosphere. After that, with two strikes against 
him and only one ball to his credit, Pete was not 
dangerous, and when he finally hit one it arched 
amiably into center fielder’s hands and Jimmy re- 
traced his steps to first. 

Myatt, however, did better, for Ben landed 
against the second delivery and whizzed it over the 
pitcher’s upraised glove and safely into the field, 
and Jimmy slid to second unhurriedly. Nick Blake 
went out on strikes, and it was Bert Winslow who 
came through with the longed-for safety, rapping 
201 


WINNING HIS GAME 


the ball straight down first base line and a yard to 
the right of the baseman’s best reach. Jimmy 
scampered home, Myatt reached third, and 
Bert managed to get to second ahead of right 
fielder’s throw. But that ended Grafton’s chances 
for the time, for the best Hugh could do was to 
lift a fly to short left that shortstop got after a 
run. 

At one to nothing th*e game went to the fifth, 
Myatt holding the enemy harmless in the fourth and 
Grafton failing to reach first base in her half. But 
in the first of the fifth a fumble by Winslow put a 
runner on first. Myatt struck out the next two bats- 
men and Grafton’s adherents began to breathe eas- 
ier. But Fairway, the Lawrence twirler, who had 
fanned ingloriously the time before, took a liking to 
Myatt’s first offering and poked it straight between 
Blake and Winslow. Result, an eager youth on third 
casting longing eyes at the plate I Also, an equally 
anxious runner on second. Fairway having gone on 
to that sack during the throw to the plate. 

Myatt started in with the head of the opposing 
batting list by putting himself promptly in the hole, 
pitching three remarkably poor balls one after an- 
other. Then he got two strikes across, neither of 
which was offered at, and tried to follow it with a 
third. But the heat was beginning to tell on Myatt, 
and the next attempt, while it looked pretty good 
202 


DUD GOES TO THE RESCUE 


from the bench, was adjudged a ball and the bases 
were full. 

“Weston,” called Mr. Sargent, “get a ball! You, 
too. Baker.” 

Possibly the sight of the two relief pitchers and 
Brooks trudging off to warm up put Myatt on his 
mettle, for he fairly stood the next batsman on his 
ear, fanning him with just four deliveries while the 
Grafton sympathizers cheered and yelped. Three 
disappointed runners left as many bases and turned 
sadly to their positions. 

Grafton tried hard to add to her score in her half 
of the fifth, but Fairway was quite master of the sit- 
uation. The sixth passed without a thrill, even if 
Lawrence did manage to work a pass and get a 
scratch hit. Nothing came of it, for Blake, Murtha 
and Ayer pulled off a double and stopped the ram- 
page. For Grafton, Winslow, Ordway and Murtha 
went out in order. 

The seventh witnessed Myatt’s Waterloo. For 
several innings he had been in bad shape owing to 
the heat, and when he faced the first batsman in the 
seventh it was not difficult to see that he was work- 
ing on pure nerve. When the first man had found 
him for a single and he had pitched three balls to 
the second, Murtha stepped over and held a confer- 
ence. Myatt shook his head and Bert Winslow 
joined them. Over behind third Gus Weston and 
203 


WINNING HIS GAME 

Dud had taken up their work again, and Will 
Brunswick had been sent to join them. 

“There’s a job open for somebody,” remarked 
Brooks, throwing the ball to Gus. “Ben’s quitting.” 

The three pitchers, their backs to the bench, never 
turned, Tut three pairs of ears were, you may be 
certain, very alert. It was Weston who was sum- 
moned, and Gus, throwing aside his sweater, which 
he had worn tied across his chest, lolled onto the 
field. Dud watched him enviously, first because he 
had been chosen to relieve Myatt and secondly be- 
cause he was able to approach the honor with such 
a wonderful assumption of indifference ! 

Weston pitched his trial deliveries, rather wildly 
as a matter of fact, received the intelligence that the 
batter had three balls to his credit and no strikes, and 
instantly supplied him with a fourth! The Law- 
rence coaches and the Lawrence players on the bench 
hooted and jeered joyfully as the batsman walked to 
first, the runner on first jogged down to second. 
But that was what might have been expected, that 
pass to the batter, for it is no mean task to go to 
the mound with the score three against you and keep 
the batsman from walking. Dud had to acknowl- 
edge that as he and Brunswick and Brooks retired 
to the thin strip of shade afforded by the little house 
in which were stored the tennis nets. 

But this was not Weston’s day. To Grafton’s 
204 


DUD GOES TO THE RESCUE 


dismay, Gus very promptly passed the third man, 
working only one strike against him, and behold, the 
bases were filled and there were no outs! So sud- 
denly can the fortunes of battle shift in the game of 
baseball! Brooks, his gaze on the bench, jumped 
to his feet. 

“Come on, fellows!” he said. “At it again! 
Peter signaled.” 

“Gee,” murmured Brunswick, “I don’t see much 
use warming up a day like this ! I haven’t a square 
inch on me that’s dry!” 

“Never mind your troubles, Willie; shoot ’em!” 
responded Brooks, grinning as he drew his mitt on. 
“One of you guys will have to go in there in about 
two shakes. They’re holding the game now for 
you to limber up your old arms. Shoot ’em. Dud!” 

Over on the diamond Captain Murtha and Bert 
Winslow and Nick Blake had surrounded the un- 
fortunate Weston, Pete Gordon, ball in hand, stand- 
ing guard at the plate. A faint breeze came up from 
the river and awakened murmurs of relief from 
the sweltering spectators. Lawrence demanded that 
the game go on, half a dozen impetuous youths 
leaping from the bench to confront the umpire. The 
group in the center of the diamond melted and Wes- 
ton held up his hand for the ball. Gordon tossed 
it back to him, knelt and signaled. 

“All right, Gus, now?” he encouraged. “Make 
205 


WINNING HIS GAME 

’em good, old man! Let’s get this one! Slide ’em 
over!” 

The infielders crept up to short-field, the runners 
capered and took daring leads and the coachers 
shouted themselves hoarse. Gus wound up and shot 
the ball away. It dropped prettily across the base, 
but the batter refused it and the umpire upheld him. 

“Ball!” announced the latter. Weston, hands on 
bent knees, stared as though dumfounded. Then he 
straightened, turned on his heel and cast his arms 
derisively apart. Lawrence jeered enjoyably. 

“Pretty good, Gus,” called Gordon. “Never 
mind, though. Let’s have it this time !” 

But Weston, though he took time and pains, shot 
one in that sent the batsman staggering out of his 
box and sent Guy Murtha to the mound. “That’ll 
do, Gus,” said Guy. “This isn’t your day, old man.” 

“It’s so beastly hot,” grumbled Weston. 

Murtha nodded non-committingly and raised 
a hand. At the bench Mr. Sargent turned to Nate 
Leddy. “Better warm up,” he said. “We may 
need you. Send Baker in.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


BACK TO THE BENCH 

T he coach met Dud at third. He appeared 
smiling and unworried, but his characteris- 
tic trick of jumbling his words betrayed the 
fact that he was not as calm as he looked. 

“Think you can go in there and pull us out of this 
mess, Baker?” he asked. “Take all the time you 
want and set your gignals right — I mean get your 
rignals sight — er — well, go ahead, my boy, and show 
what you can do !” 

Dud made no answer, which was perhaps just as 
well since had he replied truthfully to the coach’s 
question he would have been forced to say that he 
was quite certain that he couldn’t do anything of 
the sort! Instead, he walked toward the mound 
with a fair appearance of ease and in a condition 
of blue funk. Murtha met him, and although the 
latter smiled cheerfully and tried his best to look as 
if he thought all his troubles were now past, it 
wasn’t difficult for Dud to perceive that the captain 
was a bit disappointed in Mr. Sargent’s selection. 
He would have much preferred Nate Leddy, but he 
207 


WINNING HIS GAME 


had a good deal of confidence in the coach’s judg- 
ment and, after all, young Baker had shown real 
pitching more than once. 

“Good boy. Baker,” he said cheerfully. “Let’s 
see what you can do now. Listen, let Gordon do 
the head-work, see ? Just try to give him what he 
wants. They’ve got three on and no one out. Baker, 
and the score’s two against you. Whatever you do, 
old man, don’t pass him. Let him hit if you have 
to and try to make him pop up. Do your best. 
Baker, for we want this game!” 

Guy handed him the ball and Dud, very trembly 
at the knees, conscious of the hot glare of sunlight 
that made heat waves dance along the paths, con- 
scious of the encouraging voices of teammates and of 
hearty applause from the stand, wrapped his fingers 
about the leather and sent in his first “warming-up” 
ball. A whoop of joy and derision came from the 
visitors’ bench, for the ball had almost eluded the 
spry Gordon. Back it came and Dud, trying his 
best to calm his nerves, shot it in again. It was 
all right that time and the next. Then the ball 
struck the ground in front of the plate and Gordon 
had to drop and block it. One more, high and wide, 
ended the practice and the Lawrence third-baseman 
stepped up to the plate again as the umpire called 
“Play!” From the Lawrence bench and from the 
Lawrence coachers came a sudden hubbub of sound, 
208 


BACK TO THE BENCH 

but through it Dud heard Nick Blake’s cheerful 
voice. 

“We’re all with you, Dud! Go to it, son!” 

“Dud!” Nick had never called him that before, 
and somehow the thought steadied him remarkably. 
To be sure, his knees were still a trifle wobbly as he 
studied Gordon’s fingers laid against the back of 
his mitt, but the stage-fright was passing. 

“Let’s get him. Baker,” called Gordon as he arose 
from his crouch and held hands wide apart. “You’ve 
got the stuff, old man!” 

With a man on third watching for the least excuse 
to race home, a full wind-up was out of the question, 
and Dud realized that he must depend more on 
cunning than speed. Gordon had shown three fin- 
gers horizontal, and three fingers horizontal called 
for a low curve ball. Dud, emulating the example 
of Myatt, surveyed the bases slowly, pulled his cap 
down, tried to shut out the wild cries of the coach- 
ers, snuggled the ball in his fingers, threw his arm 
up, took his stride and pitched. 

At the plate the batter moved up on the ball, hesi- 
tated and let it pass. 

“Strike!” said the umpire. 

There was cheering from the stand, yells of tri- 
umph from the players in the field, but Dud scarcely 
heard them. Gordon, walking down the alley, 
thumped ball and mitt together. “That’s the stuff, 
209 


WINNING HIS GAME 


Baker!” he cried. “One-and-two now! Let’s have 
him out!” He tossed the ball back, a watchful eye 
on third, went back to his place, crouched, sig- 
naled and again held hands wide apart. He wanted 
a drop and he got it, but it shaved too closely the 
outer corner and the umpire judged it a ball. Gor- 
don turned indignantly. 

*^Whatr 

“You heard what I said,” returned the official 
crisply. 

Gordon grinned and returned the ball. “It looked 
good. Baker! Let’s have it again!” 

But it was “one finger” this time, and the fast 
one that sailed straight across the plate caught the 
batsman napping, and the umpire’s Strike — twoT^ 
was drowned in a shout of joy from the Grafton 
sympathizers. 

“That’s the pitching. Dud!” called Nick, scoop- 
ing a handful of dust from the base path and toss- 
ing it joyfully into the air. “Fine work. Baker!” 
“Keep after him!” “No one walks!” They were 
all calling encouragement to him now. He almost 
forgot the shouting, cavorting runners and the bawl- 
ing coachers. Back came the ball once more, Gor- 
don grinning widely. Then he dropped to one knee 
and laid four fingers across the big brown mitt. 

“Right in the slot, old man! He can’t see ’em! 
At a boy ! Let her come !” 

210 


BACK TO THE BENCH 


And Dud let her ! It was a slow one that did the 
trick, a ball that sped away from the mound with 
all the ear-marks of a moderately fast straight de- 
livery but that never crossed the rubber until the 
batsman’s sharp swing had passed harmlessly. 
Then it descended into Gordon’s eager hands and 
the umpire waved an arm skyward. 
outr 

How the stand shouted then and how silent the 
Lawrence bench suddenly became ! The third-base- 
man, disgusted and puzzled, dragged his dishon- 
ored bat away with him and tossed it contemptuously 
into the pile. But that was only one down, and a 
big, capable-looking youth with a grim determina- 
tion shown in his tight-set mouth was already wait- 
ing. A wide one that went as a ball, a drop that the 
batter tried for and missed, a second ball — Dud 
had attempted to cut the inner corner of the plate 
with a hook and had failed by an inch — and then, 
in response to Gordon’s signal of one finger, a fast 
one that reached the batsman waist-high and which 
he met with his bat. 

Crack! 

He was speeding to first, the bases were emptying. 
Dud, heart in mouth, turned in time to see Nick 
Blake spring two feet into the air and spear the 
ball, and then, without a wasted motion, dash across 
the second sack a scant instant before the runner 


2II 


WINNING HIS GAME 

from first slid, feet foremost, into it in a cloud of 
dust ! 

Nick had played the double unassisted and the 
side was out! Grafton stood up in the stand and 
shouted herself hoarse. Dud, still a little dazed by 
the suddenness of the triumph, stood a moment be- 
side the pitcher’s box ere he turned toward the 
bench. Then Guy Murtha was with him, had him 
by the arm and was laughing softly and saying ex- 
travagant things that he probably wouldn’t have 
said five minutes later. But Dud didn’t altogether 
sense them. He only knew during the ensuing min- 
ute that Nick had saved him — and the game ! And 
if he could have done what he wanted to do he’d 
have embraced that youth on the spot. As it was, 
ignorant that some of the applause was really meant 
for him, he made his way to the bench and sat down 
a bit breathlessly, and someone was waving a damp- 
ened towel in front of him and there was much talk 
and laughter. 

And so Grafton started her half of the seventh 
with the score still i to o and Ayer at bat. Ayer 
popped innumerable fouls into all sorts of out of the 
way places and then, with two strikes and one ball 
against him, stood inertly by and let a perfectly good 
straight one pass. He shook his head dejectedly 
as he turned away. Boynton reached first on sec- 
ond-baseman’s questionable error — the Lawrence 


212 


BACK TO THE BENCH 


scorer gave Boynton a hit — and went to second a 
moment later when Jimmy was thrown out at first. 
Gordon brought the inning to an end by fouling out 
to third-baseman. 

Then Dud was back in the box again and Gordon 
was shouting one thing and signaling another and 
again the Lawrence coachers were doing their level 
best to rattle him. But that first of the eighth was 
easy work for Dud. The luck was all Grafton’s. 
The first of the enemy beat out a bunt and then 
was caught by Gordon going to second. Dud scored 
his second strike-out on the next man, using just four 
deliveries. The succeeding batter proved more trou- 
blesome, for after Dud had worked two strikes 
across he began to lay against the others and foul 
them off with a fine impartiality. Everything, it 
seemed, was fish that went to his net, and Dud was 
beginning to despair of ever getting rid of him. He 
slipped up once and sailed one over the stubborn 
batsman’s head, and added a second ball to the 
score. Then, however, Gordon signaled a low curve 
and this time the ever-ready bat missed! So did 
Gordon, for that matter, but he found the rolling 
sphere and got it to Ayer well ahead of the runner. 
Dud got a round of applause all to himself this time, 
as he went back to the bench to pick out his bat, but 
he was so busy wondering just how much of a fool 
he would look when he stood up there and tried to 
213 


WINNING HIS GAME 

hit the redoubtable Fairway that he didn’t even hear 
it. 

I’d like to tell you, in view of what occurred later, 
that Dud picked out one of Fairway’s slants and 
drove it across River Street for a home-run. But 
nothing of that sort happened, and if Dud didn’t 
look like a fool at the bat on that occasion it was 
only because pitchers aren’t supposed to be hitters. 
Dud was an easy proposition for the rival twirler. 
He promptly forgot everything he had ever learned 
about batting and swung wildly at the first two offers, 
held himself away from temptation at the third one 
and fanned the air an inch above the succeeding ball. 
He returned to the bench shame-facedly, but no one 
paid any attention to his fiasco and it dawned on him 
that he had done just what they had expected him to 
do and a great big determination arose in him to 
do better the next time, to learn how to judge a ball 
rightly and to eventually become that rara avis 
of baseballdom, a pitcher who can hit! But there 
was, it proved, no second chance for him today. 
Nick Blake fanned as effectively if not as promptly 
as Dud had and Bert Winslow was thrown out at 
first. And the ninth inning began. 

Once more Dud proved his mastery of the enemy, 
but there were no strike-outs for him this time. The 
first Lawrence batsman hit to Winslow and went out 
at first, the next man flied out to Ordway and the 
214 


BACK TO THE BENCH 


third, after Dud had put two strikes across, lighted 
on a low curve and popped it unexpectedly into short 
right for a base. Dud made three attempts to catch 
him napping and failed and the next minute the run- 
ner was sliding to second ahead of Gordon’s hur- 
ried throw. But Lawrence got no further, for the 
following batsman, trying hard to hit safely out of 
the infield, merely succeeded in smashing a liner into 
Ayer’s hands. 

Once more Grafton swung her bats and tried to 
break the deadlock. The heat was moderating now 
and long shadows were creeping across the diamond, 
but the players of both sides were fagged and wilted 
and prayed for the end of the contest. But it wasn’t 
to come yet, for Ordway fanned, Murtha flied out 
to left field — it would have been a wonderful hit if 
that fielder hadn’t raced back like a rabbit and made 
a one-hand catch that brought applause even from 
the Grafton adherents — Ayer beat out a bunt and 
Boynton hit a weak grounder to shortstop and the 
ninth had passed into history. 

Dud was back at his post again, a little tired, too, 
in spite of the fact that he had worked only two in- 
nings. He had the head of the list against him now 
and realized that this was no time for slip-ups. Law- 
rence began enthusiastically. The little, blond- 
headed second-baseman outwitted Gordon and Dud 
and walked to first. The next batsman fouled out 
215 


WINNING HIS GAME 


to Ayer. Then came a sharp rap and the ball sailed 
over second base and there were two on and only 
one out. But things looked better a few minutes 
later, for Dud scored his third strike-out, turning 
the left-fielder ignominiously back to the bench. 
That surely ought to have ended things for all prac- 
tical purposes, but right there Luck took a hand in 
the game. The next batsman was anxious to hit, 
and Gordon knew it. In consequence the latter sig- 
naled high ones and Dud tried to serve them up. 
They caught him on the second for a strike, after 
the first had gone as a ball, and then Dud fooled 
him with a low one that barely crossed and the 
score was two-and-one. It seemed all over but the 
shouting and Gordon risked all on the next delivery. 
One finger was the signal and Dud sped the fast one 
in breast-high with not a thing on it but steam. The 
batsman leaned against that nice ball and drove it 
far and high into right field and although Boynton 
was under it he missed the catch. And although 
he recovered it quickly and sped it back to second, 
and Guy Murtha pegged it on to third, the runner 
there was safe and the chap who had hit took 
advantage of the play and slid to second unchal- 
lenged. 

Lawrence caught hopefully at the chance before 
her. A pinch hitter took the place of the center 
fielder. Gordon had no line on the new man and 
216 


BACK TO THE BENCH 


had to guess his tastes. A high one was refused 
and was judged a ball, a curve that just didn’t cut the 
outer corner went as another ball. Gordon signaled 
for a drop and the batter bit at it and had one 
strike against him. Then another drop failed to 
please the umpire and Dud was in the hole. Gor- 
don called for a high one over the plate and Dud 
tried to put it there. But he didn’t. The ball went 
wide and Dud saw with dismay the batsman trotting 
to first and heard the triumphant yelps of the enemy. 
Another pinch hitter was up and Gordon, a little 
anxious of countenance now, was asking for a curve 
ball. Dud responded and scored a strike, the bat- 
ter hitting hard but uselessly. Then came a ball, 
then a second. Gordon was calling all sorts of en- 
couragement. Guy Murtha came over and told Dud 
to take his time. His teammates were assuring him 
that he could do it. The enemy’s coachers, back of 
first and third, were howling and dancing like Co- 
manche Indians. The runners were running back 
and forth along the paths. Pandemonium was fairly 
loose and the din thumped against Dud’s ears ex- 
cruciatingly. He felt his courage ebbing out of his 
finger-tips. He wanted to ask Murtha to let him 
quit, to put someone else in, but was more afraid to 
do that than he was to go on. Gordon was pleading 
for a straight one. Dud glued his eyes to the catch- 
er’s chest, took his half wind-up and sped the ball. 


WINNING HIS GAME 


And even as he released it he knew that he had 
failed again I 

-threeT called the umpire through the din. 

Gordon was hurrying down the alley toward him, 
shaking the ball at him, his eyes blazing. 

“Settle down I” he growled. “Put ’em over I 
You can do it I Now get on to yourself I” 

Dud took the ball, nodded dazedly and turned 
back to the mound. Murtha was there, Murtha and 
Winslow, too, and the captain was looking over past 
third base and juggling a pebble in his dirt-grimed 
hands. When he turned his gaze sought Dud grimly. 

“Guess you’d better let someone else in. Baker,” 
he said. “Sorry, but we need this, old man.” 

Dud passed him the ball, tried to say something, 
he didn’t know what, and turned, white-faced and 
with hanging head, toward the bench. 


CHAPTER XX 


JIMMY ENCOURAGES 

T hat game with Lawrence Textile went to 
thirteen innings and ended, still a tie, i to i, 
to allow the visitors to get their train. 
Nate Leddy, going to the rescue with three on, two 
out and the pitcher’s score one-and-three, pulled out 
of the hole very neatly. Instead of attempting the 
difficult feat of striking the batsman out, Nate 
dropped one over knee-high and the ball went 
straight up from the swinging bat and straight 
down again into Gordon’^ mitten, and Law- 
rence saw her golden opportunity vanish. After 
that for three innings, although the suspense kept 
*up every moment, neither side got anywhere near a 
score. Leddy and Fairway, the latter showing fa- 
tigue and substituting control for speed, were mas- 
ters every minute. Fairway’s work to the very end 
was such that the spectators applauded him every 
time he left the mound or went to bat. After 
that hair-raising, nerve-racking tenth inning, Graf- 
ton could feel only satisfaction at the outcome. 
Even Captain Murtha had no regrets, and if 
219 


WINNING HIS GAME 


Coach Sargent was disappointed he made no sign. 

Perhaps, aside from the Lawrence players, the 
only disconsolate one was Dud. He had hurried 
from his shower straight to his room, his main desire 
being to get out of the way before the game ended 
and the fellows came piling into the Field House, 
and so he didn’t learn the outcome of the contest 
until Jimmy arrived, half an hour later. By that 
time Dud’s common sense had come to the rescue 
and he was able to review his performance in the 
pitcher’s box without being prompted to suicide. 
After all, he had fared no worse than Gus Weston, 
he told himself comfortingly, and even Ben Myatt 
had begun distributing passes before he had been 
taken out; although, of course, Ben had far more 
excuse for giving out, since he had pitched six in- 
nings. 

Dud was still wondering what had happened to 
him. He had been all right until Boynton had made 
that memorable muff. After that he hadn’t been 
able to get the ball where he wanted it. It wasn’t 
that his arm had tired. It had been just as good 
as when he had started. And, as Dud recalled it 
now, he hadn-^t been nervous; not, anyway, until he 
had issued that first pass in the tenth. It just seemed, 
looking back on the fiasco, that the ball had sud- 
denly simply refused to go v/here it was sent! He 
wondered whether Mr. Sargent would ever give him 
220 


JIMMY ENCOURAGES 


another chance, whether the fellows were secretly 
laughing at him. Well, he had surely afforded Bert 
Winslow a fine opportunity to say “I told you so!” 
Bert had all along been politely contemptuous of 
Dud’s ambition, to make the first team, although of 
late he had been very decent to him indeed. He 
rather hoped he wouldn’t run across Bert for a day 
or two! 

Dud didn’t make the mistake of feeling himself 
disgraced, at least not after the first few miserable 
minutes, but he did feel that he had failed pretty 
badly as a pitcher, and that before the whole school, 
and he dreaded having to face the fellows again. 
He was pondering the idea of remaining away from 
dining-hall that evening when Jimmy came tramp- 
ing along the corridor and entered. 

“Hello, you! Where’d you get to?” Jimmy 
skimmed his cap to the bed and threw himself tiredly 
into a chair. “Did you see the game out?” 

Dud shook his head. “What — what was the 
score?” he asked dejectedly. 

“Just the same as when you ducked; one each.” 
Jimmy gave a brief but graphic history of the final 
three innings. “Why didn’t you come back and see 
the rest of it?” he concluded. 

“I guess I would have if I’d known they weren’t 
beating us. I’m glad they didn’t. Did — did any- 
one say anything?” 


221 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“Say anything? What about?’* 

“About me, I mean.” 

“Oh, that’s what’s worrying you? I thought you 
looked a little bit down-hearted. Don’t you let that 
bother you, son. They all have to go through with 
that before they arrive. You did pretty well, on 
the whole. Three strike-outs, wasn’t it? And then 
you pulled us out of that hole in the seventh I Don’t 
be a clam. Dud. No one expects a green pitcher to 
go into a game like that and twirl like a veteran. 
Why, the row those fellows kicked up even made 
me nervous, away out in the field!” 

“It wasn’t that,” said Dud sadly. “I don’t know 
what it was. Of course, I was rattled just at first, 
but afterwards I didn’t pay any attention to the 
noise. I guess Mr. Sargent thinks I’m a pill!” 

“Rot! I’ll bet you lasted longer than Pete ex- 
pected you to. Of course. I’m not saying that it 
wouldn’t have been a bully thing for you if you’d 
gone the distance; you’d have had the whole school 
inviting you to dinner; but you did pretty well as it 
was. And, say, talking about that — being popular, 
I mean, and making a hit — that little meeting with 
Hobo and Blake was a lucky thing for us, wasn’t it? 
Look at the way they’ve taken you up. Dud! Fine, 
what?” 

“I suppose so,” agreed the other rather listlessly. 
“They’Ve been awfully nice to me ” 


222 


JIMMY ENCOURAGES 

“You bet! And a lot of their crowd, too. Why, 
say 

“But I don’t, somehow, care so much about being 
— ^being a ‘regular feller’ as I did, Jimmy. I — I’d 
rather be a good pitcher.” 

“Isn’t that human nature?” demanded Jimmy, ap- 
parently of the ceiling. “Just as soon as a fellow 
gets what he wants, he doesn’t want it! You make 
me tired. Dud! Here I’ve schemed and labored 
for you ” 

“I know, and I’m awfully much obliged,” said 
Dud soberly. “Only — please don’t do it any more, 
Jimmy. I’ve had enough of it, I guess.” 

“My dear demented friend, you’ve just started! 
You mustn’t think that just because Hobo Ordway 
and Nick Blake and Bert Winslow and a few of that 
close corporation have taken you up that the battle’s 
won. Far be it from such! The fun’s only started, 
son. You’ve got two years here yet and you want to 
make hay while the sun shines. Just you leave it 
to me ” 

“No, you leave it to me now,” said Dud. “I 
guess it’s like Blake said; every fellow must hoe his 
own row. And — and I haven’t got time to — to be 
popular, Jimmy. I just want to get so I can pitch 
like Ben Myatt.” 

“Say, that’s hitching your wagon to a star, all 
right; Ben being the ‘star’! Maybe you’re right, 
223 


WINNING HIS GAME 


though. There’s always the danger of having fel- 
lows think you’re trying too hard; and they don’t 
like that. Maybe your scheme is the best, Dud. 
Foxy, too, I call it.” 

“I haven’t any scheme,” denied the other im- 
patiently. “I just want to quit thinking anything 
about whether fellows like me or don’t like me. I 
guess if they do it will be because — ^because I don’t 
care !” 

“That’s what I’m saying,” said Jimmy, grinning 
exasperatingly. “Just let them think you don’t care 
a fig and they’ll flock to you. Yep, that’s a good 
idea. Dud.” 

“Jimmy, if folks didn’t know you better they’d 
think sometimes that you were a regular — regu- 
lar ” 

“Feller?” asked Jimmy helpfully. 

“Bounder I” 

“Oh! Thank you kindly. And such is grati- 
tude I Never mind, son, all you need is food. Let’s 
get to it.” 

“I don’t think — that is, I’m not very hungry ” 

“Not hungry! You’re not sick, are you?” Dud 
shook his head. “Then what’s wrong with you?” 

“Well, if you must know,” replied the other des- 
perately, “I — I don’t want to go over there and see 
the fellows grinning at me.” 

“Grinning at you? What would they be do- 
224 


JIMMY ENCOURAGES 


ing Say, for the love of lemons, Dud, get that 

idea out of your bean! Why, no one’s grinning at 
you, you three-ply chump! Why should they? 
Didn’t you go in there and save our bacon for us? 
Didn’t you work three innings like a regular 
‘Matty’? Sure, you did! Then what ” 

“And I went to pieces, too, and filled the bases 
that time,” said Dud bitterly. “Even if they don’t 
grin I shall know they want to !” 

“Piffle ! Honest, Dud, I didn’t know you were 
such a chump. Look here, you’ve been wondering 
again! Don’t tell me! I can see it. You’ve got 
your ‘I-wonder’ expression on! You stop thinking 
about Dud Baker and wash your dirty face and 
hands and come to eats. I’ll guarantee that you 
.won’t get grinned at once, old man. If I see any 
fellow trying it I’ll punch his head!” 

After all. Dud only wanted to be reassured and 
had no real intention of missing his supper, for he 
was undeniably hungry. And so, presently, they 
were off to dining-hall together, and things were 
just as Jimmy had predicted. There were no grins, 
save an occasional friendly one, and no one paid 
much more attention to Dud than usual. They 
slipped into their places at table — neither had been 
called to the training table yet, since accommodations 
at that board were very limited— and Jimmy, in 
high spirits, bandied remarks with the others be- 
225 


WINNING HIS GAME 


tween mouthfuls, and Dud tried hard to forget any- 
thing that had happened since luncheon. 

There was, naturally, much talk of the game and 
much criticism of various plays, as there always was, 
and Jimmy, as a participant, was listened to with 
respect if not with entire credence. At the training 
table, across the hall, there were no signs of de- 
pression, if one could judge by the talk and laughter. 
In fact, the whole school was looking back on the 
afternoon’s contest as something very much like a 
lucky victory. And perhaps it was. At all events, a 
comparison of the scores showed that Lawrence had 
made more hits and fewer errors and that the re- 
nowned Mr. Fairway had behaved more creditably 
than the four Grafton pitchers judged together. 

When Dud and Jimmy left the dining-hall they 
ran into Nick Blake and Bert Winslow in the cor- 
ridor. Dud had determined to avoid any such 
meeting, but fortune ruled otherwise. 

“Hello, James T.,” greeted Nick. “How’s Tris 
Speaker Junior tonight? Hello, Dud Baker.” 

“My arms are a trifle lame,” responded Jimmy. 
“When a fellow makes all the hits in a game ” 

“Hah!” ejaculated Nick mirthlessly. “Again, 
hah! You make me laugh, Jimmy. He’s a regular 
funny fellow, isn’t he. Dud? How are you feeling, 
by the way? Say, that was some twirling you did 
in the seventh, my lad!” 

226 


JIMMY ENCOURAGES 

“How about the tenth?*’ asked Dud, smiling 
wanly. 

“Well, no harm done, you know,” said Nick 
cheerfully. “They all get theirs sooner or later, 
and I dare say if you’d stayed in you’d have pulled 
yourself out all right.” 

“If we hadn’t needed the game so much,” ob- 
served Bert, “he’d have stayed in, I guess. I was 
hoping Guy would let him. It’s a bully good thing 
for a pitcher to have to dig his way out. Baker. Gives 
him confidence, you know. If I was captain of a 
team and a pitcher got in a hole I’d just let him stay 
right there and crawl out of it. Just let him have 
to do it, and if he’s the least bit of good, he will. 
My notion is that if a pitcher thinks he’s going to be 
relieved any time he goes bad, he’s going bad too 
plaguey often ! That sound like sense to you, 
Jimmy?” 

“I haven’t heard a word that sounded like sense 
since I got here,” answered Jimmy gravely. “If 
someone would suggest something to do more excit- 
ing than hearing Lit and Forum jabber over some 
subject like: ‘Resolved: That Marcus T. Cicero was 
faster on the bases than his brother Quint,’ or ‘That 
the Penguin is mightier than the Swordfish’ I” 

“That’s so, it’s debate night, isn’t it?” said Nick. 
“Who’s going? You, Bert?” 

“I suppose so. You?” 

227 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“Well, If there was anything better !” 

“There’s a moon,” said Jimmy tentatively. 

“Go on, pray! Your words Interest me 
strangely,” prompted Nick, assuming an attitude of 
suspense. 

“And there’s a river ” 

“I get you ! Will you go, Bert?” 

“Bathing? I guess so. Let’s find Hugh. You’ll 
come. Baker?” 

“Thanks, but I’ve got ” Dud stopped 

abruptly. Jimmy, smiling sweetly, had surreptitious- 
ly kicked him on the shin. 

“Yes, he’ll come,” said Jimmy. “As this happens 
to be a Saturday night. Dud, your excuse of having 
to dig Latin or something Is very poor. Let’s find 
a crowd, fellows.” 

“Let’s not,” said Bert. “I’ll round up Hobo and 
Ted Trafford. They went off a minute ago. That’s 
enough. By the way, though, I suppose you fellows 
know that the rules forbid it?” 

“No, honest?” Jimmy was evidently as pained as 
he was surprised. “Did you know that, Nick?” 

“News to me, Jimmy! I was never so surprised 
in my life ! Are you sure of what you tell us, Bert?” 

“Oh, go to the dickens! Come on then before 
the moon goes down.” 

“Or the river evaporates,” added Jimmy. “I’m 
going to suggest, fellows, that we avoid publicity 
228 


JIMMY ENCOURAGES 

as much as possible. The last time I had anything 
to do with that old river it nearly got me into trou- 
ble!” 

I feel that I ought to record here that Dud’s con- 
science made itself heard, and that, refusing to 
transgress the rules of the school, he persuaded the 
others to forego the enterprise. I’d like to record 
that, but I can’t, for Dud’s conscience must have 
been asleep, and ten minutes or so later he was fol- 
lowing the others — and Pop Driver, who had been 
discovered in the company of Hugh and Ted Traf- 
ford and persuaded to join the party — across the 
Green and Lothrop Field to the Beach, as the scanty 
expanse of sandy shore bordering the Cove was 
somewhat ironically called. And I am forced to re- 
late that the moonlight bathing party was a huge 
success, that it lasted until nearly ten o’clock and 
that faculty remained forever in ignorance of it. So, 
it would seem, for once the transgressor went unpun- 
ished. But perhaps not, after all, for Nick cut his 
foot open on a mussel shell or a piece of glass and 
Ted Trafford caught an awful cold that lasted him 
nearly until school closed 1 Possibly the reason that 
the others escaped retribution was just because their 
crime was not, after all, especially wicked. 


CHAPTER XXI 


ON THE MOUND 

D ud wondered — Jimmy wasn’t there to stop 
him! — ^what Mr. Sargent would say to him 
on Monday regarding that performance of 
his in the Lawrence Textile game. As a matter of 
fact, Mr. Sargent said absolutely nothing, either 
then or at any other time. There was very light 
practice that afternoon, most of it batting, and the 
fellows were dismissed early, many of them return- 
ing after changing to the practice diamond to watch 
the second team put away the Grafton High School 
nine. It wasn’t a vastly exciting affair, however, for 
the second, with Joe Kelly pitching, had things about 
its own way. Dud and Jimmy departed at the end 
of the seventh inning, leaving the home team five 
runs to the good, and spent a half-hour on the river 
in Nick Blake’s canoe. (Jimmy asked permission 
when they returned, and so that was all right!) 
Jimmy was troubled today and made Dud his confi- 
dant as they paddled slowly along under the droop- 
ing boughs. His trouble concerned Starling Meyer. 
But we’ll let Jimmy tell it in his own inimitable way. 
230 


ON THE MOUND 

“Someone/’ said Jimmy morosely, “has told Star 
he could play baseball. Huh! That’s all right, 
too, but what’s the use of making me let go the sec- 
ond and then dumping me in just when the fun be- 
gins? How do I know I’ll be dumped? Well, I 
don’t, I suppose. But, listen, if that chap keeps on 
butting in where’ll I be? Ordway and Boynton and 
Parker are sure of the outfield places unless they 
break a leg or a neck or something. Well, sure, 
that’s O. K. ; they’re better than I am. I know that. 
The only chance I get is when one of ’em is out of 
the game. One of ’em’s likely to be out now and 
then and so I get a whaick. All right, say we. But 
here comes this — this Indian, Meyer, butting in and 
snooping around for the crumbs, too. That makes 
two of us; three, if you count Ben Myatt; and Pete’s 
likely to put Ben in center or right any chance he 
gets because Ben can bat like a whale! If Star 
Meyer’d mind his own business, which is playing 
hockey and running creation. I’d have a fair chance 
to get into one of the Mount Morris games, wouldn’t 
I? Sure, I would! Parker isn’t very spry on that 
game leg of his, and I’ve noticed that Boynton is 
looking sort of like a friend of mine looked before 
he went into a decline. And Hobo might fall out 
of his canoe any day and get drowned — if he’d only 
use it more. I must suggest it to him. He doesn’t 
get enough exercise. Why the dickens can’t Star 
231 


WINNING HIS GAME 


keep out of it? That’s what I want to know. Some- 
thing told me away last winter that I’d have trouble 
with that galoot before the year was over I” 

“I thought I was the one,” said Dud slyly. 

Jimmy grunted. “So did I. Well, anyway, one 
good thing is that faculty hasn’t forbidden me to 
take a fall out of him!” 

“But you can’t very well thrash a fellow for just 
playing ball, Jimmy!” 

“I can beat him up for interfering with my af- 
fairs,” responded the other with dignity. “Bet you 
anything you like he will work around Guy Murtha 
and Guy’ll take him along to Corliss day after to- 
morrow.” 

“I suppose Parker will be back by then,” sug- 
gested Dud. 

“Parker? Oh, I dare say. But, listen. Dud, be- 
tween you and me now, I don’t believe Parker stands 
awfully high with Pete. I wouldn’t be surprised if 
he didn’t get back again; regularly, I mean. And 
if he doesn’t, why, maybe little Jimmy T. Logan 
will have a chance, eh? That is, if Meyer doesn’t 
persuade Guy that he’s a ball-player beforehand.” 

“You’re hitting better than Star, aren’t you?” 

“N-no, I don’t think so. Wish I were ! Still, I 
get my base a heap oftener. I suppose shooting at 
hockey helps Star hit the ball. Say, do you know, 
Dud darling. I’m going to be sort of peeved and 
232 


ON THE MOUND 


disappointed if I don’t get into one of those Mount 
Morris games? I wasn’t awfully keen at first, as 
you know, but now that I’ve started I’d like to make 
good. Besides,” he added gloomily, “the family’ll 
be here for that second game and I’d feel like an 
awful chump if I had to swing my legs on the bench 
all the afternoon!” 

“You’d be in good company,” said Dud. 

“Meaning you?” asked the other, as he turned 
the canoe back toward home. “Oh, you’ll get your 
chance. Dud. Mount Morris has got some hitters, 
they say, and if she has neither Myatt nor Nate 
Leddy will last the games through. As for Bruns- 
wick, I guess he’s a goner for this year.” 

“There’s Weston, though.” 

“That’s so, too. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to 
see Gus turn around and pitch a corking game some 
day soon. I guess the trouble with Gus is that he’s 
too temperamental. He and I are alike that way. 
If the weather isn’t just right or the moon’s in the 
wrong quarter or the tide’s too high or his shoe 
pinches him, Gus can’t pitch a little bit. But some 
day all the signs are going to be just right, and Gus 
will slip on a pair of old shoes, and he will go out 
there and make ’em eat out of his hand.” Jimmy 
paused. Then: “Maybe,” he added cautiously, 
“you can’t tell about Gus. Like me, he has the ar- 
tistic temperament.” 


233 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“Well,” said Dud, after a long silence and as they 
swung the canoe into the Cove, “I hope you get into 
all the Mount Morris games, Jimmy, and do finely. 
And I hope,” he added wistfully, “that they let me 
pitch an inning or two in one of them. I — I’d like 
that.” 

“And I,” responded Jimmy, “hope as how you 
gets your hope! Easy on! Let her run, sonny!” 

It looked the next day as though Jimmy might 
be right about Gordon Parker, for although that 
youth was back for practice with his leg evidently 
as useful as ever, he did not get back into the out- 
field when the first and second lined up for the prac- 
tice game. Instead, Boynton played in right, Jimmy 
in center and Ordway in left until the fifth inning, 
when Star Meyer took Jimmy’s place, much to that 
youth’s disgust. Leddy and Weston pitched that 
afternoon. Ben Myatt had been more affected by 
the heat on Saturday than he or anyone else had 
suspected at the time, and was said to be nursing 
himself for the next day’s game with Corliss Col- 
lege. Save for pitching to the batters in practice, 
neither Dud nor Brunswick did any work that after- 
noon. Dud watched the game from the bench and 
listened, during the last two innings, to Jimmy’s 
frank expressions of hurt feelings. Every time a 
fly ball went into center field Jimmy watched it hope- 
fully. 


234 


ON THE MOUND 


“Hope he muffs it ! Hope he mu Isn’t that 

rotten luck? Anyway, that’s a bum throw-in! If 
I couldn’t do better than that — sometimes — I 
wouldn’t try to get an honest man’s job away from 
him. Say, you’re next, Churchill. Knock a long one 
into center, will you? Put it about fifty feet over 
Meyer’s head, like a good fellow!” 

But in spite of Jimmy’s hopes and criticisms Star 
played a good enough game in center and managed 
to get a rather lucky hit the only time he went to bat. 
Jimmy tried to bribe Manager Barnes to score it as 
an error for the second team shortstop, but failed. 

There was an early and rather hurried dinner for 
the players the next day and the team, eighteen 
strong, bowled away to the station shortly after one 
o’clock. Much to his surprise. Dud made one of 
four pitchers to accompany it, and Jimmy, too, was 
of the number. Jimmy’s satisfaction, however, was 
somewhat spoiled J)y the presence of Star Meyer. 
Parker was left behipd. So, too, was Ben Myatt, 
still suffering from wlb^t the school physician had 
diagnosed as “a touch of hisat.” Ben was instructed 
to keep out of the hot sunlight and, when playing, 
wear a fold of paper inside his cap. Mr. Sargent, 
however, had no intention of allowing Ben to pitch 
again until he was so far recovered as not to re- 
quire that paper. The first of the series with Mount 
Morris would be played on Saturday, just three days 

235 


WINNING HIS GAME 


later, and so Ben had been instructed to stay right 
at home and be very, very good to himself. Leddy, 
Weston, Brunswick and Dud would undoubtedly 
manage between them to dispose of Corliss, for 
Corliss, although called a college, was little more 
than a preparatory school and was not considered 
dangerous. 

Corliss lay an hour and forty minutes away by 
railroad, although the actual distance was about 
thirty-eight miles. The team had to change at Need- 
ham Junction first and, later on, at North Taunton, 
and in consequence was somewhat weary when it 
finally disembarked from the trolley car that had 
brought it from the Corliss Station to the nearest 
point to the school. They paraded up a tree-shaded 
street, past some yellow-brick building that looked 
uncomfortably hot and glary today, and eventually 
reached the field, a very ambitious affair, inclosed 
with a brick wall and containing a permanent stand 
of concrete and a picturesque building of the same 
material roofed with red tiles. The fellows secretly 
admired that field, but they pretended to consider it 
too dressy and made a good deal of fun of the 
commodious and well-appointed building into which 
they were shown. There they had a room all to 
themselves and three shower baths as well. By the 
time they had changed to playing togs the stand 
was well sprinkled with spectators and a welcoming 
236 


ON THE MOUND 


cheer greeted them as they took the field for prac- 
tice. Only some dozen and a half Graftonians had 
accompanied the nine, for examinations held many 
at school and others were too poor to pay for the 
trip. But the handful of patriotic youths gathered 
themselves into a small but devoted group in a cor- 
ner of the big stand and from the first appearance 
of the Scarlet-and-Gray on the diamond to the end 
of the contest made enough noise for thrice their 
number. 

All four pitchers were set to warm up while the 
fielders practiced. Will Brunswick, by this time 
reconciled to his fate, went through the motions in 
a mechanical fashion, but the other three set to work 
hard, each hoping to get the call. After the Corliss 
players, a rather hefty lot of blue-stockinged and 
blue-sleeved youths, had taken the field and com- 
pleted their warming up, Mr. Sargent had a consul- 
tation with Guy Murtha and Pete Gordon. Dud 
pretended no interest as he sat on the bench between 
Hugh Ordway and Neil Ayer, but secretly he was a 
very anxious boy. Manager Barnes was getting the 
batting order now from the coach and Dud, while 
answering a remark of Hugh’s, strained his ears 
to hear. 

“Blake, Winslow, Ordway, Murtha, Ayer, Boyn- 
ton, Meyer” — Dud felt sorry for Jimmy then — 
“Gordon and — I’ll give you the pitcher later.” Mr. 

237 


WINNING HIS GAME 

Sargent nodded to Nick Blake. “Start it up,’’ he 
said. 

Nick went to bat while Mr. Sargent arose and, 
after watching the work of the opposing pitcher, a 
broad-shouldered and rather slow-moving fellow 
named Walters, for a few moments, moved along 
and spoke to Nate Leddy. Dud’s gaze followed, al- 
though he tried not to let it. The coach and Leddy 
spoke for several moments, their eyes all the while 
on the Corliss twirler. At last Mr. Sargent nodded 
and Leddy settled back in his seat, turning to his 
companion on the left, Boynton, and making a re- 
mark that brought, as Dud saw, a look of surprise 
to the face of the right fielder. Mr. Sargent re- 
mained behind the bench, watching Nick Blake try- 
ing to find something useful to him amongst the 
slow, wide curves that the blue-legged pitcher 
was offering. Nick finally slammed one across 
the diamond, but was an easy out, shortstop to 
first. 

Bert Winslow raised a long fly to left field and 
likewise retired and Hugh Ordway, after fouling 
off a couple, was badly fooled on a drop and fanned. 
As the players arose from the bench to trot into the 
field Dud, who had forgotten the coach for the mo- 
ment, felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Baker, I’m going to let you start,” said Mr. Sar- 
gent. “You’ve pitched to Brooks a good deal, 
238 


ON THE MOUND 

haven’t you? Would you rather have him handle 
you than Gordon?” 

“He knows my stuff pretty well, sir,” stammered 
Dud. “But it’s just as you say, sir.” 

The coach called to Ed Brooks. “You catch 
Baker, Brooks,” he said. “Let’s see what you can 
i do, my boy. Study your batters and watch the bases. 
Barnes, put Brooks down for Gordon and Baker 
last. All right now, you two. Show what you can 
do.” 

Dud started for the mound, drawing on his glove, 
but Brooks overtook him on the way. “Say, Dud, 
don’t let’s slip up on signals, eh?” he said anxiously. 
“If you don’t get ’em sing out. And if you use that 
side-arm pitch signal beforehand, will you? I’m al- 
ways afraid of that getting by me. Lift your cap 
in front and I’ll know, see? All right. Dud I” 


CHAPTER XXII 


DUD COMES BACK 

D ud Started out with one idea, which was 
to redeem himself. He was pretty sure 
that Mr. Sargent would not expect him to 
go more than five innings, six at the very most, and 
he determined to use every bit of strength and sci- 
ence he possessed during those six frames, to pitch 
himself out if necessary, but at all hazards to show 
form. He was nervous at first and showed wildness 
with his practice balls, and after that made a bad 
start by passing the first man up for Corliss. But 
subsequently he settled down nicely, and although 
he had no strike-outs to his credit in that first inning, 
he allowed no hits, and the runner on first never left 
that bag. 

Grafton got two hits in the second, one rather 
scratchy, but failed to score. Corliss once more got 
a man to first on a hit that took a bad bound in front 
of Nick Blake and once more watched him die there. 
In the third, after Grafton had retired in one, two 
three order. Dud began to find his control, and he and 
Ed Brooks disposed of the Corliss pitcher and the 
240 


DUD COMES BACK 


first two batsmen on the Blue’s list with no trouble, 
Walters fanning, the next man popping a fly to Neil 
Ayer and the next being thrown out at first by Bert 
Winslow. 

Grafton got her first run in the fourth inning. 
Hugh Ordway was passed, Murtha sacrificed him to 
second and, after Neil Ayer had struck out, Boynton 
slipped a fast grounder down the alley between 
shortstop and second, and Hugh romped home and 
beat the throw by a yard. Star Meyer flied out to 
center field. 

Dud added speed to science in the last of the fourth 
and two of the Blue’s best batsmen fanned wildly, 
and the little group of Graftonians in the corner of 
the stand cheered themselves patriotically and ap- 
propriately scarlet of face. The succeeding batter 
drove a liner into Captain Murtha’s glove and the 
fifth inning began. 

Ed Brooks allowed Walters to put him in a hole 
with the first two deliveries, and then, after disdain- 
ing a couple of wide ones, swung despairingly at a 
third and somehow managed to get it on the tip end 
of his bat and land it safely behind shortstop. Then 
began a fusillade of the Corliss pitcher that ultimate- 
ly spelled retirement for that youth. Dud, who had 
rolled a weak one down the first-base path and been 
an easy out the first time at bat, now tried twice to 
bunt and failed. After that there was nothing to do 
241 


WINNING HIS GAME 


but take a good healthy swing and try to get the ball 
out of the infield. With the score two-and-two, Dud 
cut loose and poked a hit past third-baseman that put 
Brooks on the third sack and himself on first. Blake 
bunted and the pitcher fielded, the latter making 
the mistake of holding the ball too long to protect 
the plate. When he finally tossed to first he was 
too late and the bases were full. 

At this interesting juncture Bert Winslow ought 
to have stepped into the limelight with a smashing 
home-run or a three-bagger at least, but the best 
Bert could do was to bounce one away to shortstop 
and Brooks was an easy out at the plate. But the 
bases were still filled, with only one man down, and 
there were cries of “Lift it. Hobo!” “Knock it in 
the nose. Hobo!” as Hugh went to the plate. Wal- 
ters, showing the strain now, pitched two wild heaves 
which his catcher barely stopped and then slipped 
one across in the groove. Hugh swung at it but was 
too late. A third ball followed and Grafton yelled 
exultantly. But again Walters made good, Hugh 
not offering. Everything depended on the next de- 
livery, and as the ball left the pitcher’s hand the 
three runners on the paths started away. They need 
not have hurried, though, for the ball went low and 
wide and Hugh walked. Dud crossing the platter 
with the second tally for the Scarlet-and-Gray. 

By this time Corliss had two pitchers warming up 
242 


DUD COMES BACK 


and it was easy to see that Walters’ minutes were 
numbered. Captain Murtha brought affairs to the 
crisis by landing on the pitcher’s second delivery and 
lifting it high and far to right field. It was well 
over the fielder’s head, and that youth failed to get 
under it. Two more runs tallied and Guy took sec- 
ond. After that Walters passed Ayer and was 
promptly derricked. The new twirler, Hoyt, had 
difficulty in getting under way, and before he suc- 
ceeded two more hits and as many runs had been 
scored. Of the hits Boynton contributed one and 
Brooks one. Star Meyer made the second out and 
Dud the third. Dud being robbed of a hit by a pretty 
running catch of a short fly to center. 

The score was 6 to o when the last half of the 
fifth started and there seemed to be no doubt as to 
who owned the game. Dud was beginning to feel 
tired, but believed himself fit for another inning, or 
two if necessary. But things broke bad at the start. 
The first of the enemy to face him showed no eager- 
ness to hit and before he knew it Dud was two balls 
to the bad. Then, although he managed to get a 
strike across, he followed with a third ball, and the 
final result was that the Corliss youth smashed a hot 
liner straight over third base and took two bases on 
the hit. The succeeding batsman fouled out quickly 
to Winslow. Then Brooks tried to catch the run- 
ner off second and the ball got away from Murtha, 

243 


WINNING HIS GAME 


who took the throw, and the runner reached third. 

Dud felt himself slipping then and shot an inquir- 
ing look toward the bench. But Mr. Sargent was 
evidently still unworried, for Leddy and Weston 
were both there and no one was warming up. Dud 
gritted his teeth and went on. The batsman had a 
strike and two balls on him when Dud, trying to 
break a high one over the inner corner, lost control 
of the ball and it went straight for the batter’s head. 
But Dud’s shout of ^‘Look outT* was not necessary. 
The man at the plate dropped just in time and the 
ball sailed past Brooks and brought up at the net, 
the runner on third sprinting home. 

Murtha and the others did their best to steady 
Dud again, and Ed Brooks, walking down to place 
the ball in Dud’s hand, said: “That was my fault. 
Dud. I ought to have got it. Sorry, old man. 
Dop’t mind ft, though. Let’s have this fellow, eh?” 

Dud nodded. It was nice of Brooks to call it his 
fault, but of course it hadn’t been anything of the 
sort. Dud glanced again toward the bench as he 
went back to his place on the mound. He wished 
that Mr. Sargent would get his relief ready. He 
wondered why he didn’t. He was giving way to a 
sort of fright now, although he didn’t show it un- 
less by the longer time he took to grip the ball and 
study Brooks’ signal. About him the infield players 
were spiking words of encouragement. The bats- 
244 


DUD COMES BACK 

man had him in the hole. He must make him hit. 
But something told him that he was worked out, 
that there was no use trying, that today was to be 
just a repetition of that other day when he had gone 
to pieces there on Lothrop Field with the whole 
school looking on ! 

Brooks had signaled for a straight ball and Dud 
tried to pitch it. Instead of being straight, though, 
it was a hook, but it crossed the corner of the plate 
and the umpire was charitable to Dud. Brooks, 
looking anxious, threw it back slowly and again 
spread his hands. The little group of Grafton root- 
ers cheered. Dud, however, took no joy of the 
doubtful decision. Luck had aided him that time, 
but this time, he told himself, he would surely fail. 
And fail he did. The ball passed well inside the 
plate and the batsman, staggering away from it, 
dropped his bat and trotted down the path. Corliss 
was cheering madly now, sensing the fact that the 
Grafton pitcher was at last weakening. Guy Mur- 
tha hurried to the box and told Dud to take his time, 
to let them hit. Dud muttered agreement, conscious 
chiefly of disappointment. He had expected Guy 
to take the ball away from him! What, he won- 
dered almost angrily, was the matter with them? 
Couldn’t they see that he was through? Why did 
they want to keep him there when he was only mak- 
ing things worse every minute ? 

245 


WINNING HIS GAME 


None out now and a runner on first. The next 
batsman didn’t wait for a pass but lighted on Dud’s 
first offering and sent it rolling toward third. Dud 
and Brooks and Winslow all started for it, but it 
was Bert who scooped it up and pegged it to Ayer, 
and Bert wasn’t set for the throw and the ball went 
a yard away from the first-baseman. The first run- 
ner dashed to third and the next slid into second 
base. Dud went despairingly back to the mound to 
face the next ambitious blue-legged youth. A hit 
meant two more runs for Corliss, he told himself. 
Surely then they’d let him go out I But the hit didn’t 
come just then. Instead, it was a short fly that left 
the bat and Nick Blake ran back and got it safely 
and slammed it home. But the man on third didn’t 
try to score. Then the hit did come, after Dud by 
some miracle had induced the batsman to swing at 
two wide balls, and it sped into short center field 
and two joyful Corliss runners tallied. 

Dud looked inquiringly at Murtha and got only 
a “Never mind that. Baker! Go to it!” Then his 
eyes sought the bench, and there sat Leddy, hands 
in pockets, and Gus Weston chatting unconcernedly 
with Barnes over the score-book, and Mr. Sargent, 
leaning forward with hands clasped loosely between 
his knees and his straw hat pulled over his eyes ! 
Dud couldn’t understand it at all. Did they want 
to get beaten? Couldn’t they see that he was throw- 
246 


DUD COMES BACK 


ing the game away, that he wasn’t any good after 
all, that he never had been? 

“Settle down. Dud!” called Nick Blake. “At a 
boy! Let’s have ’em, old top!” 

“One gone!” chanted Captain Murtha. “Let’s 
have the double, fellows!” 

Dud turned desperately to his task again. He 
tried to remember what the fellow facing him now 
had done before. Struck out, hadn’t he? Or was 
he the chap who had smashed out that double? 
Well, it was up to Brooks, and Brooks wanted a 
drop. Dud tried to catch the runner at first and 
failed twice and then pitched to the plate. The 
drop was good and the batsman swung at it. 

“That’s the stuff !” called Brooks cheerfully. “He 
can’t hit ’em. Dud! Right across now. Show him 
a good one.” 

A wide and low one followed and then another. 
Two-and-one now, and Brooks showing three fingers 
for another drop. Dud tried it and failed and the 
umpire announced “Ball three!” Corliss shouted 
and stamped and clapped. Dud had none to waste 
and he took all the time he wanted for the next. 
But it slanted away erratically and the batsman 
tossed his bat behind him and sprang gleefully to- 
ward first, while the runner at that station went on 
to second. Murtha came to the box. 

“Look here. Baker, what’s the matter with you? 

247 


WINNING HIS GAME 


Are you trying to present them with the game? For 
the love of Mike, put some of them over ! Let them 
hit ’em, I tell you. We’ll take care of them!” 

“Maybe,” muttered Dud, “you’d better let me out, 
Murtha.” 

“Let you out? Is that what you’re up to? Well, 
listen. Baker; you’re going to stay in here until you 
get the third man if it takes all the afternoon 1 So 
you might as well get busy. You can throw the game 
away if you want to, but you’re going to stay right 
here, son! Understand that?” 

Dud viewed him, astonished. Then he nodded. 
“All right,” he said finally. “I’ll do my best.” 

“That’s the talk,” responded the captain kindly. 
“Get a grip on yourself. Baker. You’re just as good 
as you were an hour ago, man! All you’ve got to 
do is to think so! Now settle down and make ’em 
eat out of your hand!” 

Dud gave up trying to understand things after 
that. They meant to keep him at it until he had 
retired the side. That was the principal thing to 
think of. He wasn’t to look for relief but must 
earn his own salvation. Well, in that case he knew 
where he stood, and that was something of a com- 
fort. At least, he wouldn’t have to look over to- 
ward the bench every few minutes. Either they 
thought he could hold what he had or they were 
just keeping him in to punish him. Either way, it 
248 


DUD COMES BACK 

didn’t much matter, he decided. All he had to do 
now was to retire two more batsmen in some way 
or other. That realization seemed to simplify mat- 
ters remarkably! 

Dud turned and studied the bases. A runner on 
second and a runner on first. And one out. Why, 
that wasn’t so bad! A double play would end the 
trouble, or a hit an3rwhere in the infield would prob- 
ably account for one. He mustn’t let the batsman 
bunt toward third, though, for that would draw 
Winslow off his bag. Better give him low ones and 
try the inner corner. If only he could get his slow 
ball working again he might squeeze out of the hole 
he was in. 

“Two fingers,” said Dud to himself. “But that 
won’t do, Ed. He wants to dump one down toward 
third.” Dud shook his head and Brooks laid three 
fingers across his mitt. Dud nodded. Yes, a drop 
was the best. If he could make it go, he added 
doubtfully to himself. But he did make it go. And 
the batsman professed intense astonishment when a 
strike was called. Brooks signaled for the same 
thing again, and again Dud essayed it, and again he 
earned the decision, for this time the batter swung 
viciously at it without, however, any result. Dud 
breathed easier. With two strikes across he could 
waste a couple and perhaps fool the batsman with 
a hook. Brooks showed two fingers and Dud served 
249 


WINNING HIS GAME 


a curve waist-high but wide of the plate. Then an- 
other, a little closer, but still not tempting. Dud 
refused two signals and at last got Brooks to show 
four fingers. Then Dud nodded, glanced behind 
him to where Murtha and Blake were running the 
blue-legged youth back to base whenever he tried to 
steal a start, and wound up. Forward shot his arm 
and away sped the ball, straight for the plate and 
fairly high, and around swung the bat and swept 
through empty air I For the ball had been a slow 
one and the batter had hit inches ahead of it! 

Dud stopped slipping then, brought up with a 
round turn, in fact! If he could still make that 
slow ball of his go right he could fool any of them ! 
He wondered what had got into him ! Why, he was 
just as good as ever! What a silly fool he had been 
to think anything else ! They were shouting shrilly 
and triumphantly over in the corner of the stand 
and Brooks was grinning all over his round, freckled 
face. Dud spread his hand in the dust and fondled 
the ball and waited calmly for the next batsman. 
He was no longer afraid, no longer doubtful. He 
had, he told himself exultantly, come back! 

Brooks asked for a curve and Dud refused it. A 
fast, straight ball instead was what the batter saw 
speed past him. Perhaps, though, he didn’t really 
see it, for it fairly sizzled with the “steam” that Dud 
put on it. After that a low curve broke badly and 
250 


DUD COMES BACK 


then a second one barely trimmed the outer corner of 
the rubber, but the batsman swung at the latter and 
missed it. A foul back of the plate just escaped 
Brooks and spoiled what Dud had intended for a 
third strike. Two-and-two now, and the Corliss 
coachers shouting imploringly for a hit and the run- 
ners dancing on their toes, eager to be off. Dud 
might still waste one if he liked, but his lingers, 
when the ball came back to him, curved themselves 
around the ball cunningly in response to the catcher’s 
signal and Dud stepped forward and pitched, and 
every ounce of speed he had went into that deliv- 
ery. Straight as an arrow it flashed to the plate, 
cut it squarely in halves and thumped into Ed 
Brooks’ mitt. The batter never even offered at it 
and his bat was still at his shoulder when the umpire 
waved him aside I 

Dud, walking across to the bench, heard the 
cheers of the tiny band of Grafton rooters and 
smiled a little. Those cheers sounded awfully good 
to him just then! He had come through and the 
only desire in his heart now was to be allowed to 
finish I 

And finish he did, and went straight through to 
the end of the ninth without further punishment. 
In those four succeeding innings the enemy made just 
three hits, one of them a two-bagger that netted 
nothing beyond a journey to second base. Six strike- 
251 


WINNING HIS GAME 


outs were added to his credit and he made two as- 
sists. And in the meanwhile Grafton sweetened her 
total with three more runs, so that when Dud ended 
the game by causing a Corliss pinch hitter to fly out 
to Boynton in left the score stood 9 to 3. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


BEN TELLS A SECRET 

T he team missed connection at North Taun- 
ton coming back and had to kick their heels 
about the platform there for more than an 
hour, reaching school finally just before eight, a very 
tired lot. There was a cold supper awaiting them 
in the dining-hall, and after that had been demol- 
ished few of the fellows had inclination for any- 
thing but bed. 

Jimmy, who had remained on the bench all the 
afternoon, was in a particularly pessimistic frame 
of mind, and Dud’s last conscious memory was of 
Jimmy, pajama-clad, seated on the edge of his bed, 
muttering dire threats against Star Meyer. 

Thursday was a busy day for Dud, with exami- 
nations beginning in real earnest. In the corridor 
of School Hall at noon he was hailed by Roy Dres- 
ser. “Say, Baker, Myatt’s looking for you. Told 
me to tell you to drop around to his room if I saw 
you.” 

As there was still a half-hour before dinner. Dud 
turned his steps toward Lothrop and climbed the 

253 


WINNING HIS GAME 


flight of slate steps that led to the second corridor. 
Ben Myatt roomed with Nate Leddy in Number 8, 
and both occupants of the two-room suite were in 
when Dud entered. He hadn’t seen Myatt for sev- 
eral days and he was surprised to find him stretched 
out on the couch looking rather pale and fagged. 

“Hello, Dud,” he said. “Mind if I don’t get 
up ? I’m feeling a bit rocky today. Pull up a chair.” 
Dud replied to Leddy’s greeting and found a seat.* 
Leddy went on sorting some books at his desk. 
“Nate,” continued Myatt, “has been telling me about 
your good work yesterday. Dud. I was awfully 
glad to hear it, son. How’s the arm today?” 

“Quite all right, thanks. Oh, it’s a little stiff, but 
I guess it will limber up this afternoon.” 

“Better go easy with it. Nine innings is quite a 
stretch the first time. You’ve never gone the full 
limit before, eh?” 

“No, and I thought for a while yesterday that I 
wasn’t going to be able to. I guess Leddy told you 
what a mess I made of that fifth inning.” 

Ben nodded. “I wonder,” he ruminated, “how 
many of us have had an upset in that ‘fatal fifth.’ It 
seems that the fifth is crucial. Anyway, I’ve always 
had a sort of superstition about it. If I can last out 
the fifth I can go the limit, but almost every game 
I pitch something happens in that inning. Some- 
times it’s only a stumble and sometimes it’s a regular 

254 


BEN TELLS A SECRET 


fall-down. I dare say you thought it funny Pete 
didn’t pull you out yesterday when you went bad, 
eh?” 

Dud nodded his head. “Yes, I expected him to, 
and when he didn’t I — well, I sort of thought he 
was keeping me in to — to discipline me. I suppose 
he was.” 

“Not exactly. We were talking you over the 
other evening; I guess it was the night after the 
Lawrence game; and Pete said he guessed you 
wouldn’t stand a full game this year but that you 
might next. I told him you could stand it any time 
if he’d let you do it. ‘You put Baker in a game 
that’s on ice,’ I said, ‘or a game you don’t particu- 
larly care about winning and let him see himself 
through. Every pitcher has got to get into trouble 
once and dig out again before he finds himself. 
After he has done it once he knows that he can do it 
and after that he does it.’ Pete thought I might be 
right and Guy said he was certain of it. Great Scott, 
don’t I know? Haven’t I been through it? I’ve 
stood up there with the crowd yelping and been so 
scared I couldn’t half see the plate ! Just had to 
trust to luck when I let ’em go that they wouldn’t 
fly over the backstop! Don’t you feel, now that 
you’ve stood the gaff, that you could start out this 
afternoon and pitch nine innings without getting 
wobbly?” 


255 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“Yes, I think I could,” responded Dud cautiously. 
“But I mightn’t. When a fellow’s stuff stops break- 
ing right for him and a play goes wrong in the in- 
field and there are a couple on the bases ” 

“Right you are,” said Leddy. “I know the feel- 
ing, Baker. It’s the deuce!” 

“It sure is,” agreed Ben. “But what I’m trying 
to say is that a chap has got to get good and scared 
and get over it before he’s worth a hang in the box. 
You had your scare in the Lawrence game. Dud. I 
could see just how you felt. But they had to pull 
you out to save the game. You had another one 
yesterday and they didn’t have to pull you out and 
you found it was up to you to crawl out of the hole 
all by yourself, and you buckled down and did it. 
You didn’t know it, but if we’d been trimmed thirty 
to nothing yesterday you’d still been in there pitch- 
ing ’em over when the game ended! That was 
Pete’s plan from the first. ‘If Baker’s in shape,’ he 
said to me, ‘I’ll put him in and let him pitch the 
whole game.’ ” 

“I’m glad I didn’t know it,” laughed Dud. “I’d 
have been frightened stiff if I had!” 

“Wouldn’t have blamed you a mite,” said Nate. 
“To tell the truth. Baker, when Pete told me on the 
bench there yesterday that he was going to put you 
in for the limit I thought he was crazy. I didn’t 
expect you to last more than four innings. I don’t 
256 


BEN TELLS A SECRET 


mind telling you now, because it turned out all right 
and you fooled me beautifully. I apologize. You 
pitched as nice a game for a rookie as I ever saw in 
my life, old man, and that’s a fact!” 

“I wish I could have seen it,” said Ben. “Fact 
is. Dud, I sort of look on you as a pupil, although I 
never really taught you a thing except a little com- 
mon sense. You had everything you’ve got now 
when I got after you that day in the cage, but ” 

“You taught me how to use what I did have,” 
said Dud stoutly. “If it hadn’t been for you I’d 
never have made good a little bit.” 

“Well, all right. Thanks for the testimonial. 
What I wanted to see you about today was this. 
Nate and I talked it over and we decided to put you 
wise to what’s up. Pete probably thinks it’s better 
to keep quiet about it. Anyway, it wouldn’t help 
any to let it get over to Mount Morris. So you 
keep it to yourself. I’m dished for the rest of the 
year. Baker. When I was a kid I had a sunstroke. 
A lot of us were on the beach one beast of a hot day 
and we were doing stunts and racing and going on 
the way kids will, you know. Well, I keeled over 
and was sick for two or three days; had rather a 
narrow squeak of it, I believe. I’ve never had any 
trouble since, though, until Saturday. It was beastly 
hot that day, and I guess I was feeling sort of punk, 
anyway. Well, the result was that I had to give up, 
257 


WINNING HIS GAME 

and after I got to the Field House I was as sick as 
a dog and felt like the dickens. Now the Doc says 
Fve got to keep out of the sun all summer. Oh, he 
says there’s no harm in going around if it’s just or- 
dinarily warm, but I’m supposed to wear some sort 
of a ventilated hat or stick a newspaper in it or 
something. If the day’s all right I’ll have a try at 
twirling Saturday, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be good 
for only four or five innings. That means that Nate 
here will have to finish out. Or Nate may start and 
I’ll go in if it’s necessary. Anyhow, there’s the sec- 
ond Mount Morris game the next Friday, and, in 
case they get one away from us, we’ll have to play 
them again the next afternoon. See what I’m get- 
ting at, Dud? You’ve got to take your turn in one 
of those games, old man. You can’t figure it any 
other way. Gus may get a whack, of course, and if 
Gus happened to have a good day it would help the 
situation a lot. For my part, I don’t believe we can 
count on finishing the series this year in two games. 
Mount Morris is good and she’s got a pitching staff 
that’s every bit up to ours. So there it is. Nate 
will have to pitch part of the Friday game, at least, 
and if he does he won’t be up to twirling again the 
next day. We want to win the series, naturally, and 
we’ve been talking it over. And we decided that it 
would be the best thing to put you next to what was 
up and let you get accustomed to the idea. I don’t 
258 


BEN TELLS A SECRET 


know how you are that way, Dud, but I know that 
a good many fellows if they were suddenly called on 
to go in and pitch in a deciding game with the rival 
team would have nerves so badly they wouldn’t 
know a drop from a jump.” 

Dud took a long breath. “Gee !” he said. “Can 
I do it?” 

“Yes, I’m sure you can — after yesterday. Yes- 
terday’s experience was just the sort of medicine you 
needed. Don’t you think so yourself?” 

“Yes, I do. At least, I don’t think I’d ever go to 
pieces quite so badly again, Ben. But — but pitching 
against Mount Morris ” 

“Pshaw,” said Leddy. “Mount Morris isn’t so 
different from Corliss. They play a little better, 
that’s all. The big thing is to just go in and tell 
yourself, and make yourself believe^ that you’re a 
heap better than any batsman they can put up. Isn’t 
that so, Ben?” 

“Yep, I think it is. Confidence is a big factor in 
pitching. Dud. And we want you to spend the next 
week or so accumulating a lot of it. You’re not 
likely to have to work Saturday, although you never 
can tell what’ll happen in a ball game. Anyway, 
you won’t have to work more than an inning or two. 
I’m pretty sure I can go four and Nate isn’t likely 
to break down under five, I guess. I wish to good- 
ness we had one south-paw in the bunch I” 

259 


WINNING HIS GAME 


‘‘Brunswick’s a left-hander,” offered Dud. 

“I know, but he isn’t ready yet. I guess he’ll 
come around nicely next year. Well, that’s the out- 
look. Now, if you take my advice, you’ll do a little 
work every day, Dud; not a great deal, but enough 
to keep silky; and you’ll get used to the idea of going 
into one of those Mount Morris games and doing a 
lot of pretty pitching. I’m going to get out of here 
tomorrow and we’ll have a try-out, just you and I, 
Dud. I want to see that cross-fire of yours again. 
If you can make that good it might be a big asset 
against some of Mount Morris’ right-handed bat- 
ters. How is your hitting nowadays. Dud?” 

“Pretty poor. I’m afraid,” replied Dud ruefully. 

“Try and brace up with it. You never can tell 
when a hit will mean a whole lot to your team. And 
a pitcher that can smash out a safety now and then — 
especially when it’s needed a lot — is pretty useful.” 

“That’s the only thing that got Ben his place,” 
said Leddy dryly. 

“It helped a lot, anyway,” laughed Ben, “espe- 
cially when I started in with the second and didn’t 
have much more than my glove. But you try to 
meet ’em between now and next Friday, Dud. And, 
by the way, better not let Pete Sargent know that 
you’re on. Maybe he will give you a hint himself in 
a day or two, but until he does you let him think you 
don’t suspect anything.” 


260 


BEN TELLS A SECRET 


But Dud got no hint from the coach that week. 
The next day, Friday, Ben lugged Dud off to the 
practice diamond after the teams had gone in and 
put him through his paces. Dud’s round-arm deliv- 
ery interested him considerably, and Ben had to have 
a try at it himself, without, however, getting any 
such result as Dud did. 

‘‘I like that,” said Ben. “If you can make it a bit 
more certain. Dud, you’ll have a good ball there. I 
know if you pitched that to me and I didn’t know 
what was coming I’d back out of the box! Let’s try 
it again.” 

Dud put in every moment at batting that he could 
find opportunity for. But he didn’t seem to make 
any improvement. He could land on some of 
Brunswick’s offerings fairly well, but Gus Weston 
or Leddy nearly always got them past him. He 
wasn’t used in the box on Thursday, and had only 
two innings of work Friday, but his pitching arm 
was back in shape and he assured himself over and 
over again that he was quite ready to face Mount 
Morris or anyone else. Nevertheless, his heart had 
a way of jumping into his throat sometimes when he 
suddenly remembered what might happen a week 
hence I Jimmy wasn’t much use to him at that time, 
for Jimmy was having hard work with examina- 
tions and was, besides, much disgruntled over Mr. 
Sargent’s preference for Star Meyer in center field. 
261 


WINNING HIS GAME 


Even when, the day after the Corliss game, he dwelt 
on what he termed Dud’s “coup,” he was only half- 
hearted. 

“You own the school now. Dud,” he proclaimed. 
“Your middle name is Popularity. Didn’t I tell you 
that if you followed my advice and specialized on 
pitching a baseball you’d get to be a regular feller? 
Sure, I did ! And you’ve gone and done it !” 

Dud, though, failed to discern any enormous pop- 
ularity. Of course those who had seen the game 
were warm in their praise of his work, and those 
who hadn’t been present looked on him a bit more 
interestedly, but if he had expected to wake up on 
Thursday and find himself suddenly famous — and, 
as a matter of fact, he hadn’t thought of any such 
thing — he would have been disappointed. No one 
patted him on the back and told him how good he 
was and no one particularly sought the honor of his 
society. But the Corliss contest had not been a very 
important one and the school had fully expected to 
win it, anyway. Real fame was to be garnered only 
in a game with Mount Morris. 

Saturday dawned hot and breathless, with an un- 
clouded sky overhead. There were no examinations 
that morning and the fellows had nothing to do but 
look forward to the afternoon’s contest with their 
old rival and speculate on the outcome it. A 
few heroic ones played tennis and the canoes were 
262 


BEN TELLS A SECRET 


pretty busy, but the heat made idleness almost a 
virtue. It was rumored at dinner time that Leddy 
would start in the box for Grafton and that Myatt 
would be held in reserve. 




CHAPTER XXIV 


THE FIRST GAME 

W HEN, at two o’clock, the invading hordes 
swept down on Grafton it looked as 
though Mount Morris Academy had ar- 
rived in toto. Of the hundred and eighty-odd stu- 
dents enrolled at the Greenbank school that year, 
fully a hundred and fifty swarmed over from the 
station after the arrival of the train. They came 
in hilarious mood, marching along Crumbie and 
River Streets four abreast and waving small green 
megaphones through which they hoped to later roar 
the enemy into subjection. Green and white, the 
Mount Morris colors — I am aware that white is not 
a color, but how else can I put it? — were much in 
evidence in the shape of pennants and neckties and 
arm-bands, while a frivolous fox-terrier led the pro- 
cession, straining at his leash, attired in a green 
blanket with the school monogram in white. Alto- 
gether, that invasion was notable and picturesque, 
and Grafton, looking on from the windows of Lo- 
throp and Trow or from along the campus fence, 
cheered approvingly. Mount Morris cheered back 
264 


THE FIRST GAME 


and waved her pennants, turned into School Street 
and disbanded at the gate. Subsequently those who 
had acquaintances at Grafton were to be seen climb- 
ing stairways, while others wandered around in criti- 
cal survey of the school buildings. 

Add some two hundred Grafton fellows and an- 
other hundred sympathizers from the village and 
roundabout and you’ll understand that the seating 
capacity of Lothrop Field that afternoon was se- 
verely taxed. Politely, but not over-eagerly per- 
haps, Grafton yielded the grandstands to the visitors 
and townsfolk and found accommodation on the 
grass. Only a band was lacking to make the oc- 
casion complete; and I’m not sure that a band would 
have had much chance with all that cheering and 
singing I 

The game started at two-thirty, or, to be exact, 
four minutes after the scheduled time. The sun was 
pretty hot and what slight breeze crept up now and 
then from the river did little to mitigate its ardor. 
Nate Leddy began proceedings by slipping a strike 
over on the head of the Mount Morris batting list, 
and the Scarlet-and-Gray cheered what they were 
pleased to consider a good augury. The enemy re- 
tired without reaching first and when the teams 
changed places it was seen that Mount Morris, in- 
stead of putting in her best pitcher, Saylor, was go- 
ing to use Moulton. Moulton was a left-hander 
265 


WINNING HIS GAME 


and Grafton had taken very kindly to his pitching 
last year In the second game of the series. Saylor 
was evidently to be saved for use against Myatt. 

But it was soon apparent that Moulton had pro- 
gressed In the gentle art of pitching a baseball since 
the previous season, for Blake and Winslow both 
fanned and the best Ordway could do was to fly out 
to second-baseman. Save that the cheering and sing- 
ing and coaching were in their enthusiasm sufficient 
to mark the occasion as one greatly out of the ordi- 
nary, no one would have suspected anything unusual 
from the first few innings of the contest. Both teams 
played hard but ragged ball, and the rival scorers 
had to jot down many errors. And yet, since every 
spectator was thoroughly partisan, those scoreless 
innings were not without their interest. There were 
some brilliant plays by both sides: a running, one- 
hand catch by Left-Fielder Porter of the visitors that 
deprived Guy Murtha of a two-bagger, a superb 
throw to second by Gordon of the home talent that 
cut down a green-legged runner, a double by Blake 
and Ayer that brought the fourth inning to an in- 
glorious — or glorious, according to whether you 
sported green or scarlet — ending. And the two 
pitchers, neither seriously threatened, also deserved 
laurels. To offset such commendable incidents, how- 
ever, there was a sickening muff of an easy toss by 
Murtha at second, the dropping of a foul by Ayer 
266 


THE FIRST GAME 


after he nad it nicely in his hands, the booting of a 
hit by Winslow and a ‘‘solid ivory’’ play by Gordon 
in the third when he called for a pitch-out and then 
pegged the ball over first-baseman’s head when the 
runner was half-way to second. And the visitors 
made quite as many slip-ups and, I think, more dis- 
plays of bad judgment of the kind that count in 
results but do not show in the error column. 

Leddy met his first batch of trouble in the fifth — 
the “crucial fifth,” as Ben Myatt had called it two 
days before — when he passed the first man up and 
allowed the next to hit safely past Winslow. After 
that he struck out the next two batsmen but couldn’t 
prevent a run coming over when the following green- 
leg popped a Texas Leaguer behind Winslow. Nick 
Blake made a valiant effort to get that hit, but the 
best he could do was to scoop it up and get the man 
at third. Grafton got men to third and second in 
her half, but they died there. 

That ended the scoring until the seventh, and it 
was in the seventh that Leddy gave way to Weston 
in the first half, and that the home team put the game 
away in the second period. Mount Morris began 
by getting a scratch hit that put a runner on first. 
The next man tried to sacrifice, but Leddy threw wild 
to Blake at second and both runners were safe. A 
short fly to left field settled in Hobo Ordway’s hands 
and he held the runners. Then Leddy let down and 
267 


WINNING HIS GAME 


passed the next batter on four consecutive balls and 
the bases were all occupied with but one out. Leddy 
showed nervousness and risked a tally by trying to 
catch the runner at second. Only quick work by 
Blake sent the man at third doubling back to that 
base. With a strike and two balls on the batter, 
Nate let go of a wild one and, although Gordon 
managed to partly block it, the enemy scored her sec- 
ond run. Leddy pitched another ball, worked 
a strike across and finally passed the batter. It 
was then that Gus Weston, who had been warm- 
ing up to Brooks for two innings, was hurried to 
the rescue. 

Gus started erratically by pitching three wild ones 
in a row and then settled down and struck out the 
green-leg and got a fine salvo of applause from some 
three hundred anxious Grafton sympathizers. An- 
other five minutes of suspense followed, during which 
Dud and Jimmy and the other non-combatants sat 
on the final two inches of the bench and clenched 
their hands and yelled their heads nearly off. In 
the end, after the batsman, who happened also to be 
Mount Morris’s captain, had three balls to his 
credit and two striked against him and had fouled 
off exactly five offerings, a screaming fly to center 
field that Star Meyer caught ended the trouble. 

But if it ended Grafton’s trouble it only began 
Mount Morris’s, for it was that last of the seventh 
268 


THE FIRST GAME 


that saw the downfall of Moulton, the Green-and- 
White’s second-best twirler. Gordon led off with a 
sizzling shot to right that the fielder had to take on 
the bound and was secure on first. Weston went out, 
second to first. Nick Blake tried the first thing that 
came his way and bounced it off Moulton’s shins, 
advancing Gordon and arriving at first without ques- 
tion. Winslow came across with a two-base hit to 
left that sent Gordon home with Grafton’s first tally 
and a minute later Hugh Ordway slammed one 
down the third-base line, scoring Winslow and put- 
ting himself on second. 

That was enough for Moulton and he disap- 
peared, a tow-headed youth by the name of Whitten 
taking his place. Whitten, though, was easy from 
the first moment and hit followed hit, interspersed 
by a couple of infield errors, until Grafton had 
crossed the platter with six runs. 

In the eighth Gus Weston almost produced heart 
disease among the home team supporters by passing 
the first batsman, hitting the next on the leg and 
then committing a most apparent balk and moving 
the runners to third and second. Ben Myatt drew 
on his glove about that time and moved down the 
field with Brooks, but Ben’s services were not needed, 
after all, for a weak grounder was pegged home for 
the first out and Gordon shot the ball to first for the 
second. A fly to Boynton, which he juggled for one 
269 


WINNING HIS GAME 


awful instant and then captured, brought the sus- 
pense to an end. 

In the Grafton half of the eighth both Winslow 
and Ordway hit safely, Murtha filed out to center, 
Ayer got his base on a fielder’s choice that failed to 
catch Winslow at third, and the sacks were again 
filled and the stage set for a tragedy. But the best 
Boynton could do was to pop up an infield fiy, and it 
was left to Coach Sargent, assisted — very capably 
assisted — by one James Townsend Logan, to pro- 
duce the appropriate climax. 

It was Star Meyer’s turn at bat, but Star had 
failed all the afternoon to do more than reach first 
on one occasion by virtue of a fielder’s choice. So 
Mr. Sargent looked about him for a pinch-hitter. 
There was, to be sure, Ben Myatt, but Ben was down 
the field gently tossing the ball to Brooks. Perhaps 
it was a gleam of eagerness in Jimmy’s eyes that de- 
cided the coach. At all events. Star Meyer, armed 
for the struggle, was called back half-way to the 
plate and it was Jimmy who jumped to his feet, 
seized a bat at haphazard, possibly afraid that the 
coach would change his mind if he gave him a chance, 
and fairly leaped to the plate. 

Jimmy got a fine round of applause and a lot of 
advice as to what to do. It was evident that many 
of the audience would be satisfied with nothing less 
than a home-run, but, on the other hand, the advice 
270 


THE FIRST GAME 


he got from the bench and the coachers was to “just 
tap it, Jimmy!” Jimmy did not so well as the stand 
demanded and did better than his teammates ad- 
vised. He smote it. He didn’t smite at once, 
though. He let Whitten put one straight over that 
looked too low to Jimmy and just right to the um- 
pire, and he let Whitten follow that strike with two 
deceitful hooks that looked fine at first and then 
didn’t. And then, when Whitten tried to sneak one 
over again opposite his knee-pads, Jimmy did his 
smiting. Jimmy got that ball on the one square inch 
of his bat best calculated to produce results, a square 
inch located about four inches from the end, and he 
put all his contempt for Mount Morris and Whitten 
and, incidentally, Star Meyer, into his swing, and 
the ball traveled away with a crack that was hearten- 
ing indeed to the three impatient runners, shot over 
second-baseman’s upthrust glove, still ascending, 
went curving into center field at a place where neither 
the guardian of that territory nor his left-hand neigh- 
bor had any chance of reaching it, and finally 
dropped to earth to roll joyfully along the sward 
pursued by two pairs of agitated green legs 1 

Need I narrate that all Grafton arose as one and 
shrieked hysterical delight? Or that the bases, 
filled a scant moment before, were speedily emptied? 
Or that Jimmy, finding them empty and having his 
choice of any, decided to annex second and then, 
271 


WINNING HIS GAME 


urged on by coachers more capable of judging the 
demands of the moment, spurned second and set his j 
heart on third — and would have gone tearing home i 
if Guy Murtha himself hadn’t seized him forcibly 
and thrust him back to the bag? Well, perhaps you 
wouldn’t have guessed the latter details, but I fancy 
you’d have surmised the others. That hit of Jimmy’s 
went down in local history as one of the famous 
hits of the national pastime. It wasn’t that it won 
the game, for the game was already captured. Had 
he struck out Grafton would still have been returned 
the victor that afternoon. But there was something 
beautifully satisfying about it, one might almost say 
artistic. The audience was on the qui vive for it, 
the setting was right to the most minute detail and it 
was made when and where it would do the most 
good. To be sure, it might have been a home-run ! 
and so scored four tallies instead of three, but I 
maintain — and I am supported by Dud and Nick 
and Hugh and half the school — that there is nearly 
always the element of luck in a home-run, whereas 
Jimmy’s three-bagger was a solid, meritorious, hon- 
estly-earned hit as soul-satisfying as any homer ever 
lifted over a fence! 

Perhaps you think I am dwelling over-long on the 
glory of that performance and to the holding up of 
the game. But as a matter of fact it ended the game 
there and then to all intents and purposes. To be 
272 


THE FIRST GAME 


sure, Gordon did get to first on a pass, while the 
cheering was still going on, but nobody cared, any 
more than they cared a minute later when Gus Wes- 
ton fanned. Anything that might happen now 
would be an anti-climax. The audience was satis- 
fied, surfeited. Mount Morris had no fight left in 
her and went out in one, two, three order in the 
ninth. 

Subsequently there was chaos and noise and the 
sight of numerous scarlet-and-gray-hosed heroes 
bobbing about above a sea of joyful faces and open 
mouths. And Mount Morris trotted subduedly off 
the field, after returning Grafton’s eheer, and was 
next seen attired in street clothes being borne in 
hacks to the station, a number of rather tired-look- 
ing but still smiling young gentlemen whom Fate 
had used unkindly. And yet, as they passed Lothrop 
Hall they tossed a final cheer behind, and there was 
a grimness and determination in the tone of it that 
seemed to say: “Make the most of your triumph, 
Grafton! Our turn comes next!” 


CHAPTER XXV 


LEFT BEHIND 

G rafton jubilated and made glad. Nate 
Leddy spent a sorrowful evening and re- 
fused the comfort offered by his roommate. 
Gus Weston was inclined to be talkative about his 
share in the victory, but no one took Gus seriously. 
Of all those who had taken part in the contest, it 
remained to Jimmy Logan alone to be triumphant. 
Jimmy triumphed and made no bones about it. I 
don’t mean that he went around throwing his chest 
out or figuratively crowning himself with laurel and 
with bay. Oh, not at all. Jimmy was not self-as- 
sertive In the least. He only smiled when laudation 
came his way, and strove to impress others as being 
firmly of the Idea that what he had done had been 
nothing to speak of, absolutely nothing. Only, now 
that it had been mentioned, wasn’t it a joke on Star 
Meyer? Star hadn’t made a hit in the game and 
had fielded — well, anyone knew what Star’s fielding 
was like I And then, just when he had a chance to 
really do something for himself and the team, Pete 
had yanked him away from the plate. Not, how- 
274 


LEFT BEHIND 


ever, that, in Jimmy’s belief, Star would have done 
anything. Probably quite the contrary and other- 
wise. Star, he reflected compassionately, must be 
feeling rather cheap, eh? 

Jimmy fairly haunted Star’s waking hours for the 
j next day or two. No matter where Star went, there 
I also was Jimmy, Jimmy with a sympathetic mien and 
1 a sly twinkle in his eye. Star ran across him in cor- 
I ridors, on the Green, on the Campus, on the field, 
everywhere. And, on Sunday afternoon, trying to 
find sanctuary in the library, he hid himself behind 
an atlas of the world in a secluded corner, only to 
hear a few minutes later the sound of footsteps on 
^ the floor and to glance over the top of his book into 
the sweetly condoling countenance of Jimmy. Star 
dropped the atlas with a mutter of despair and 
sought his room. 

There were plenty who predicted that Jimmy had 
ousted Star from center field, and Jimmy himself 
believed that he had, and yet when Wednesday came 
around, bringing final examinations to an end and 
Yarrow High School to the scene, Jimmy again dec- 
orated the bench and it was Star who ambled out to 
center field 1 And, oh, the chagrin of Jimmy ! 

There isn’t much to tell of that game. Yarrow 
had been selected because she was not calculated to 
make hard work for Grafton, and she proved the 
wisdom of the selection. Brunswick started in the 
275 


WINNING HIS GAME 

box for the Scarlet-and-Gray and lasted three innings 
and a third of the next. Then Dud went to the 
rescue and stopped the onslaught of the enemy. He 
was instructed not to exert himself and didn’t need 
to, but, possibly for fear that he might, Gus Weston 
relieved him in the eighth. Meanwhile Grafton 
kept her plate clean and scored eight runs on her 
own account. Except that it kept the players in 
form and took the place of a game with the second 
— which team, by the way, was at Greenbank receiv- 
ing a rather conclusive drubbing from the Mount 
Morris second nine — that contest might just as 
well have not been played. Yarrow High was not 
enough of an opponent to test Grafton’s ability in 
any line. But it served to keep the enthusiasm up, 
if anything was needed for such a purpose, and 
gave the Scarlet-and-Gray something to while away 
the time with. The next day was to be Graduation 
Day and many fathers and mothers and assorted 
relatives and friends were already on hand. The 
Glee and Mandolin and Banjo Clubs discoursed in 
the Gymnasium that evening and there was a dance 
afterwards. The dance, however, was not for the 
baseball players, or, at least, only a few numbers 
of it, for they were supposed to be tucked in bed at 
ten o’clock. Let’s hope that most of them were. I 
know, though, that Jimmy wasn’t. Jimmy at that 
particular hour was perched rather precariously on 
276 


LEFT BEHIND 


the footboard of Dud’s bed explaining at great 
length and with a fine flow of language his opinion 
of Star Meyer and Coach Sargent and Guy Murtha 
and all others who in any way represented authority 
I in baseball affairs. Jimmy wasn’t nearly through 
' when Dud fell asleep. 

Graduation Day dawned fair and only mildly 
hot and went, as many had gone before at Grafton 
and as many would later. There were the exercises 
in the hall at eleven, at which some thirty seniors 
received diplomas and some one hundred and eighty 
others applauded deafeningly. Several that we 
know were among the fortunate young gentlemen: 

' Ted Trafford, captain of last fall’s football team; 

! Roy Dresser, Guy Murtha, of present fame; Joe 
! Leslie, class president; Gordon Parker, Nate Leddy, 
Ben Myatt, Neil Ayer, Jack Zanetti, of track and 
football renown, and some others doubtless. And — 
I had almost forgotten — Pop Driver I Yes, Pop 
' actually received his diploma at last and bore up 
' very modestly under the acclaim that almost swept 
the roof from the building! 

|; And there was a royal luncheon in dining-hall at 
! one-thirty, and after that “spreads,” as the fellows 
i liked to call them, in various dormitory rooms, and 
I still later, lemonade and sandwiches and cakes set 
i out on a long table in front of Manning. In the 
evening Forum and Lit held their big debate of the 
' 277 


WINNING HIS GAME 


year, and Lit won hands down, and the admiring 
fathers and mothers and sisters and aunts and — oh, 
all the rest of them, clapped and beamed and were 
extraordinarily proud. And then there were more 
refreshments and, at last, everyone went home — 
somewhere. 

The exodus began the next morning, but less than 
half the students deserted. Most of them, accom- 
panied by compliant parents, entrained for Green- 
bank at eleven-ten or twelve-twenty-five to see the 
ball game. At a few minutes after twelve Grafton 
was pretty well deserted. Mr. Crump, the worthy 
head janitor, remained, I think, and possibly a stray 
member of the faculty, but Doctor Duncan went and 
“J. P.” went and “Jimmy” Rumford and, oh, just 
about everyone ! And so we might as well go too ! 

The team, fifteen strong exclusive of manager 
and assistant manager and Mr. Sargent and “Dinny” 
Crowley and “Davy” Richards, left on the later 
train. A five-minute wait at the junction, spent in 
working off a little extra enthusiasm, and then they 
boarded the main line train and were hustled away 
toward Greenbank and whatever fate awaited them. 

Of course most everyone hoped for a second vic- 
tory since it would leave them free to go home for 
the summer, but there were one or two enthusiasts 
who were willing to see the series go to three games. 
Among the latter was Dud, for Dud wanted very 
278 


LEFT BEHIND 


much indeed to pitch in one Mount Morris contest, 
and he saw no likelihood of doing it unless that third 
game was played. Most of the fellows proclaimed 
their belief that Grafton would again take the meas- 
ure of her opponent this afternoon, but secretly they 
doubted it. Mount Morris had nearly always taken 
one game, and today, playing on her own field, sur- 
rounded by her graduation crowd, and smarting un- 
I der the defeat of last week, she was certain to make 
ja fine fight for victory. 

! Mr. Sargent, Murtha, Barnes and Mr. Crowley 
I occupied seats together and spent most of the time 
between Needham Junction and Greenbank laying 
jplans for the contest. Dud and Jimmy sat together 
■further back in the coach, Jimmy doing his best to 
'make Star Meyer uncomfortable by staring at the 
Iback of his head. There was a good deal of talk 
land laughter and some horse-play, for the fellows 
had the coach pretty much to themselves until Web- 
ster was reached. There was a delay at Webster, 
for a branch line train with which the express made 
connection had not arrived. Most of the fellows 
disembarked to stretch their legs and harry the sta- 
tion agent, and Jimmy and Dud were of the num- 
ber. Jimmy insisted on taking his stand on the plat- 
form opposite the window at which Star sat and 
staring him out of countenance until Dud dragged 
him away by main force. 

279 


WINNING HIS GAME 

“I’ll bet,” chuckled Jimmy as, having promised to 
behave, he obtained his release from his chum‘s 
grasp, “I’ll bet that Star will be glad when he hikes 
out for home ! I never knew a fellow who disliked 
to be looked at as much as he does!” 

“Looked at!” said Dud. “You’re enough to 
drive the fellow crazy! I wouldn’t be surprised ifj 
he dreams of you at night, you and your — er — ^ 
bacillus stare !” 

“I think the word is basilisk/* replied Jimmy 
sweetly. “Not that it matters, however. Not thati 
anything matters except whether I beat that chump ' 
out for the position of center fielder today. Say, 
where are you taking me ? Suppose the train starts 
up ?” 

“It won’t. You heard the trainman say we were 
waiting for the local, and that comes in over there 
on the other side of the station. Let’s see if there 
are any fish in this stream.” 

“Who cares whether there are or not?” But 
Jimmy followed along the embankment to lean be-; 
side Dud over the railing of the culvert and stare 
into the little brook that flowed beneath. “I see a 
frog down there, if that will do you any good. I’d 
like to catch him and put him down Star’s neck!” 

They had wandered some forty or fifty yards 
back from the rear car, which the team had taken 
possession of, and consequently when a bell clanged 
280 


LEFT BEHIND 


far down the track and the command “All 
abo-o-oard!” reached them, as it did at that mo- 
ment, they didn’t waste time in expressing surprise 
or consternation but set off as fast as their feet would 
carry them. 

“That trainman,” panted Timmy, “will come to a 
bad end!” 

Whether the conductor failed to see them or 
whether he gave them credit for an astonishing 
celerity they never knew, but the train began to move 
before they had covered half the distance between 
the culvert and the last platform of the rear car. 

I Running over ties is not conducive to speed and for 
I a moment or two they despaired of reaching their 
I goal. But they did reach it, just when the end of the 
station platform threatened to defeat their efforts, 
and Jimmy, leading, grasped a handful of iron rail- 
ing and gave a spring. 

What happened next was always very confused 
in their minds. They had noticed that the rear 
platform was occupied by someone, but had not rec- 
ognized who that someone was. As Jimmy’s fingers 
closed about the railing at the steps a rubber-soled 
shoe was placed against his chest and the very next 
thing Jimmy knew he was rolling over on the plat- 
form and Dud was rolling over with him, and the 
train was rods away! 

Struggling somehow to his feet, Jimmy gave chase, 
281 


WINNING HIS GAME 


shouting like a wild Indian and causing a stupendous! 
commotion amongst the few occupants of the plat- 
form. But all he got for his pains was an ironic,; 
farewell wave from the figure in the doorway of the ^ 
last car! 

Dud, rather pale of face, joined him, dusting his 
clothes and staring dazedly after the disappear- j 
ing express. Jimmy, wild-eyed, turned sputteringly. j 
“D-did you see who that was?” he demanded.'] 
“It was Star Meyer! He pushed me off the step! ! 
He — he kicked me off! I might have been killed! - 

You wait! You wait till I ” 

But Jimmy was fairly gibbering now. Dud hand- j 
ed his straw hat to him. “Never mind about that : 
now,” he said impatiently. “The question is how ^ 
we’re to get to Greenbank. How far is it?” 

“I don’t know. You wait till I get my hands I 

on that — that ” j 

“Let’s find out,” interrupted Dud anxiously. “The I 
game’s at two-thirty and it must be half-past one 
now. Maybe there’s another train that will get us 
there in time, Jimmy.” 

Jimmy stopped his mouthings and hurried after ; 
Dud to the waiting-room, unconscious of the curi- ■ 
ous regard of the small audience. The agent was 
most unsympathetic. He had been chivied by the 
fellows and made sport of and he seemed to think 
that it served these two young rascals just about 
282 


I 


. . . was rolling over on the platform and Dud 
. . . with him” 





H T* 

Jimmy 






LEFT BEHIND 


I right. His replies to their anxious questions were 
short and discouraging. No, there wasn’t another 
train to Greenbank before two-forty-eight. No, he 
didn’t know how they were to get there by half-past 
^two. (His tone implied that he hoped they 
I wouldn’t!) Yes, they might be able to get a car- 
P riage to drive them over. There was a livery stable 
g about a mile down the road there. And the dis- 

I tance to Greenbank by rail was nine miles. 

They retired to consider. A mile walk to the liv- 
ery stable didn’t appeal to them and Dud suggested 
; telephoning. Fortunately, there was a booth in the 
'corner of the waiting-room and Jimmy possessed a 
’nickel. They crowded in and at last, after much de- 
lay, got the stable. But the voice at the other end 
was not at all reassuring. They had carriages enough 
and horses enough, but just now there wasn’t any- 
one to drive ’em. If they could wait until two 
o’clock maybe Billy would be back from Chester. 
Jimmy impatiently suggested that they could drive 
themselves and the stable could send a man over to 
Greenbank on the train to bring the team back. But 

f that didn’t appear feasible to the man on the tele- 
phone. Mr. Libby, it appeared, had gone to the 
city. (Mr. Libby, they gathered, was the pro- 
prietor.) If Mr. Libby was there maybe he’d let 
’em have a rig, but the speaker declined to shoulder 
the responsibility. In short, the only course was to 
: 283 


WINNING HIS GAME 


i 


await the return of Billy at two — or maybe half- 
past — or three, at the latest! 

Jimmy hung up the receiver impatiently. 

“I suppose there isn’t a trolley?” murmured Dud. 
They consulted the agent once more. He showed 
peevishness at being required to awake from his nap 
and open the window again and took evident pleas- 
ure in informing them that the nearest trolley line 
was four miles distant and that it didn’t go to Green- 
bank, anyway; leastways, not direct; it went to West 
Shoreham first. The window descended with a ven- 
omous bang. 

Dud and Jimmy, hands in pockets, wandered dis- 
consolately back to the platform. There was an 
unoccupied baggage truck there and they seated 
themselves on it and swung their legs and stared 
forlornly at a field of potatoes. 

“I dunno,” murmured Jimmy hopelessly. 

Dud consulted his watch. It was now one-forty- 
six. In three-quarters of an hour the game would 
start. And they wouldn’t be there! Of course it 
wasn’t very likely that he would have had a chance to 
pitch today, anyhow, but there was always the pos- 
sibility. Dud sighed deeply and Jimmy echoed the 
sigh. It had just occurred to him that there was 
now no question as to who would play center field. 

“If I ever lay my hands on that skunk,” broke 

forth Jimmy, “I’ll — I’ll just about ” 

284 


LEFT BEHIND 


But Dud interrupted by sliding off the truck and 
walking away down the platform. 

“Where are you going?” called Jimmy. 

“Em going to Greenbank,” answered Dud. 

“How?” 

“Walk I” 

“Walk ! Walk nine miles? Why it’ll take hours 1” 

“All right,” replied Dud over his shoulder. “Let 
it. But I’m going to get there, just the same, 
Jimmy.” 

“Biit — here, hold on !” Jimmy followed at a trot. 
“What’s the use. Dud? We won’t get there until 
the game’s ’most over, and ” 

“Can’t help it. I started out to see that game 
and I’m going to ! Besides, a fellow might as well 
be walking as sitting around on that platform. I 
can do nine miles in two hours, I guess.” 

“Two hours! Oh, jimminy!” Jimmy looked 
longingly back at the shaded platform. 

“What do you say?” demanded Dud. “Coming 
along?” 

“I suppose so,” said Jimmy in a weak voice. “I 
don’t see what good it is, but — all right. Dud, I’ll 
have a try at it. Nine miles 1 Gee I” 

“Come on then,” said Dud. “Let’s hike.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE BORROWED HAND-CAR 

I T was hot and the walking was hard. They took 
to the path between the tracks, but even that 
was far from being an ideal surface. Now and 
then a sleeper, longer than the rest, protruded to trip 
unwary feet and for long stretches at a time they 
walked over ballast. When they had been on their 
way only a few minutes a locomotive whistle sounded 
in the distance behind them and Jimmy was for 
turning back. It might be, he thought, a train to 
Greenbank. But Dud destroyed his hope. 

“It’s that branch line train,” he said. “The one 
we didn’t wait for.” 

“I’d like to push it off the track,” muttered Jimmy. 
“If it hadn’t been for that we wouldn’t be in this 
fix.” 

After another ten minutes conversation ceased al- 
together. They were too hot and tired for talking. 
The track, with strange perversity, ran for a long 
way through a cut and what breeze there was failed 
to reach them. They watched eagerly for the mile- 
posts at first, but they were unusually far apart, 
286 


THE BORROWED HAND-CAR 

they concluded, and they soon got tired of looking 
for them. A wooden trestle made the going easier 
while it lasted, for there were planks to walk on, 
but it ended all too soon and they were back on cin- 
ders and broken stone again. Near the end of the 
third mile they retired to the ditch at one side to let 
a long freight trundle past. Jimmy morosely ob- 
served that, of course, the pesky thing had to be 
going in the wrong direction ! 

They reached a small station at about half-past 
two and made an assault on the water tank in the 
little room. Perhaps fortunately, the water had not 
seen any ice that day. They rested a few minutes 
and then went on again. A hundred yards down 
the track Jimmy uttered an exclamation and Dud 
turned to find him pointing dramatically at a hand- 
car reposing on a couple of ties laid at right angles 
to the rails at one side of the way. 

“What do you know about that?” asked Jimmy 
in awed tones. 

“What about it?” asked Dud. 

“Why, you chump, all we’ve got to do is slide that 
on the track and get to Greenbank in no time at 
all!” 

“And get arrested for swiping railroad property 1” 

“We won’t swipe it; we’ll just borrow it,” said 
the other indignantly. 

“I guess,” responded Dud dubiously, “it’s harder 
287 


WINNING HIS GAME 


to work one of those things than it is to walk. Be- 
sides, we couldn’t lift it onto the rails.” 

“I’ll bet we could. And all you have to do is just 
work those handles up and down like a pump, you on 
one side and I on the other. It may be hard, but 
it’ll be a mighty pleasant change 1” 

“We’re certain to get in trouble if we try that, 
Jimmy. Come on. We’ve done half the distance, 
I guess, already.” 

“Oh, come on!” Jimmy was already struggling 
with the hand-car. “We can lift it easy enough. 
Dud. It isn’t heavy. Here, we’ll toss this junk off.” 
And Jimmy ruthlessly slid a box of spikes and some 
tools to the ground. “Give us a lift. Dud!” 

Dud hesitated an instant longer and then went to 
Jimmy’s assistance. The car was lumbersome, but 
they had no great difficulty in trundling it along the 
ties and then swinging it to the rails. Fortunately, 
a bend in the tracks hid them from the little station. 

“Climb aboard!” said Jimmy joyfully. “Bend 
your back. Dud! Let her flicker!” 

She didn’t “flicker” much at first, though, and it 
proved to be surely a case of “bend your back” ! 
They did a good deal of grunting and perspiring be- 
fore the hand-car found its gait. After that it 
wasn’t hard to keep it going, except that the con- 
tinual raising and lowering of the bars soon began 
to tire arms and shoulders and backs. But Jimmy, 
288 


THE BORROWED HAND-CAR 


although the perspiration was soon trickling down 
his nose, was full of encouragement. 

“There’s another mile-post coming, Dud! Say, 
I’ll bet we’re making fifteen miles an hour, eh?” 

“More like ten,” panted Dud^. “Wish we’d come 
to a grade so we could quit a minute!” 

“Bound to be one soon, I guess. Keep it up ! 
We’re doing finely!” 

And there was one soon. It began a few rods be- 
yond, but, instead of being a down-grade it was the 
other sort, and for the next ten minutes they had 
their work cut out for them ! Dud was all for aban- 
doning the hand-car and taking to their legs again, 
but Jimmy pointed out that when they had once 
reached the top of the hill they’d be able to coast 
down the other side of it. But Jimmy was wrong 
about that, for when the grade did come to an end 
only a level track awaited them. Still, after propel- 
ling that thing up a quarter-mile rise, even level 
track was a vast relief, and they let the car run a 
minute while they dropped the handles and mopped 
their streaming faces. 

“What time is it now?” asked Jimmy, easing a 
wilted collar about his neck. They had long since 
removed their jackets and hats and bundled them at 
their feet. 

“Two minutes to three,” answered Dud. “How 
much farther is it, do you think?” 

289 


WINNING HIS GAME 


“Only about two miles, I guess. Say, suppose we 
come to a station? We’ll have to beat it by in a 
hurry, eh?” 

“Either that or let this thing go. But there isn’t 
likely to be another station before Greenbank, I 
guess. Let’s hit her up again.” 

They hit her up and overtook another mile-post 
and were arguing breathlessly as to the distance 
they had covered when a sudden roar and clatter 
down the track behind them put the question out of 
mind. 

^^TrainF* yelled Dud, who was facing the rear. 
“Stop her, Jimmy!” 

Jimmy threw his body across his ascending bar, 
after one glance behind him. A short blast of warn- 
ing came from the approaching locomotive, and then 
another and another. The hand-car slowed and 
stopped and before it had ceased its momentum two 
badly scared boys were on the ground beside it. 

“We’ve got — to get — her off!” cried Dud. 
“Quick, Jimmy!” 

On came the train, still whistling, but now they 
could hear the grating of brake-shoes as the engi- 
neer put on the air. Dud had his end of the hand- 
car clear of the rails, but at Jimmy’s end the wheels 
were caught. 

“Give me a lift — here!” panted Jimmy, and Dud 
sprang to his aid. 


290 


THE BORROWED HAND-CAR 


Neither dared look back up the track, but they 
could feel the rails pulse as the locomotive bore down 
upon them, while the screech of locked wheels was 
deafening. It seemed minutes before they managed 
to wrench the hand-car from the track, although it 
was in reality but a matter of seconds from the 
first warning blast to the instant that, pushing the 
hand-car down the slope beside the railway, the 
two boys literally threw themselves after it. There 
was a roar, a maelstrom of dust, the sound of re- 
leasing brake-shoes and the freight, gathering speed 
again, rushed by them. 

Clank-clank! Thump-thump! Car after car 
went past while Dud and Jimmy, white-faced, 
breathless and trembling from their exertions, 
crouched in a tangle of bushes beside the half-over- 
turned hand-car, deafened, choked and blinded with 
dust, shudderingly grateful for their escape. 

Meanwhile, some two miles distant, Grafton and 
Mount Morris were battling valiantly on a sun- 
smitten diamond before the gaze of nearly a thou- 
sand excited spectators. The fourth inning was 
drawing to its close. It had been a slow contest, filled 
with anxious moments for both contenders. Every 
inning so far had seen runners on the bases and yet 
only one tally had been scored and that for the visit- 
ors. In the first of the second a pass had been fol- 
291 


WINNING HIS GAME 


lowed by a clean hit and a bad error by Mount Mor- 
ris’ second-baseman and Captain Murtha had dashed 
over the plate. But since then Saylor, for the Green- 
and-White, and Nate Leddy, pitching for the vis- 
itors, had managed to stave off runs, although more 
than once a hit would have spelled disaster. Neither 
Saylor nor Leddy had gone unpunished, for there 
had been hits aplenty for both teams, but neither 
Grafton nor Mount Morris had been able to hit 
safely when a hit would have meant a run. Errors 
had been frequent and each team had been about 
equally guilty, although the Green-and-White’s slip- 
ups had proved more costly. Now, with two down 
and Gordon on second, Nate Leddy was trying his 
hardest to solve the mysteries of the sharply-break^ 
ing deliveries of his rival. Here again a hit would 
send a tally across, and here again the hit was not 
forthcoming, for Nate, after getting Saylor in the 
hole, fouled off his second strike and then lifted a 
high one to first-baseman. 

The fifth began with the tail-end of the Mount 
Morris batting list coming up and Leddy beginning 
to show wear. Strike-outs had been few and Nate 
had in nearly every case been obliged to serve at 
least seven balls. Mount Morris had displayed a 
positive passion for knocking fouls. Nate’s first 
two offerings were not good enough and the third 
went bounding off the batsman’s cudgel into the 
292 


THE BORROWED HAND-CAR 


stand. Then came a third ball, and simultaneous 
with the umpire’s decision Ben Myatt left the bench 
and began to warm up with Brooks. Nate had to 
let that batter go. The next one flied out to Boyn- 
ton. Then came another hit, the seventh for the 
home team, and first and second were occupied. 
Nate was slipping now and from the bench Coach 
Sargent was watching him as a cat watches a mouse. 
One ball — two balls — a strike — another ball — 

Mr. Sargent arose and Guy Murtha hustled in 
from second to the mound. Back of first base Ben 
Myatt removed his coat and moved into the field. 
Nate passed him the ball and Ben clapped the other 
on the shoulder as he turned toward the bench. 

“Myatt pitching for Grafton!” announced the 
umpire. 

Weston had joined Brooks and was tossing the 
ball to him desultorily, his gaze on the diamond. 
The cheers from the visiting contingent died away 
and Ben took up the task. The batsman accepted 
the first ball and slammed it across the diamond to 
Nick Blake. Nick dashed to second and made the 
out, but the oncoming runner from first spoiled his 
throw and the double. Two down and men on first 
and third. But Ben had the situation in hand and 
the next batsman fouled out to Winslow. 

Once more Grafton put runners on the bases, 
Winslow first, after Blake had retired by the strike- 
293 


WINNING HIS GAME 


out route, and then Ordway, the latter beating out 
a bunt by a hair’s-breadth. But then Murtha, swing- 
ing like a Hercules, only succeeded in driving a liner 
into shortstop’s glove and Neil Ayer’s fly to right 
was an easy out. 

Mount Morris’ first-batsman struck out amidst 
the joyful whoops of the Grafton supporters, but 
the next man hit safely to short left and was ad- 
vanced by a bunt which Winslow, coming in for 
on the run, scrambled. A double steal followed, 
Gordon pegging to Winslow too late. Myatt had 
trouble finding the plate and the bags were filled 
again. But Fortune had not yet turned her back on 
the Scarlet-and-Gray. The Mount Morris left 
fielder, doing his utmost to bring off a sacrifice fly, 
only hit a weak, bounding ball to the pitcher’s box 
and the runner was out at the plate. But Gordon’s 
throw to first was too late to get the batter. Myatt 
worked a strike over and followed it with a ball. 
Then a healthy swing failed and the score was two- 
and-one. But a second ball followed and then a 
third, and Grafton saw trouble ahead. The next 
was a strike, not offered at, and Ben gathered him- 
self together for a final effort. When the ball left 
his hand it sped straight for the center of the plate 
with nothing on it but speed. There was a crack 
of wood against leather and out in left field Hugh 
Ordway, shading his eyes for an instant, turned and 
294 


THE BORROWED HAND-CAR 


raced back. A swift turn, a change of direction to 
the right and then a breathless, silent moment in the 
stand. Down came the ball, Hugh stepped forward 
a pace and then a mighty shout of joy and relief 
arose from the haunters of the scarlet-and-gray pen- 
nants. With his back almost at the wall of the red- 
brick dormitory. Hobo Ordway had pulled down 
one of the longest flies in the history of the dual 
contests I 

The seventh began with Grafton still one lone 
tally to the good. Boynton was an easy out, short- 
stop to first. Star Meyer fanned, Gordon got a 
lucky hit that glanced from Saylor’s glove and rolled 
safely past second-baseman. Myatt received a salvo 
of applause as he made his first appearance at the 
plate and there were demands for a home-run. But 
Ben was not the old Ben today. Those on the bench 
realized that he was playing on his nerve and Mr. 
Sargent viewed him anxiously. Ben let Saylor put 
a strike and two balls over before he offered. Then 
came the hit-and-run signal and he swung at a fairly 
wide one while Gordon streaked to second. Ben 
missed entirely, but the catcher’s hurried throw was 
low and Gordon was safe. Ben spoiled the next one 
and Saylor made it three balls and Grafton howled 
and whooped expectantly. But Ben’s attempt to wal- 
lop failed, for the ball only glanced from his stick 
and rolled slowly toward third. Pitcher and third- 
295 


WINNING HIS GAME 


baseman both scurried for it and Saylor fielded it. 
It was too late to get Gordon and the pitcher pegged 
across to first. Ben, running hard, scented the throw 
and dived feet-foremost to base with the result that 
he collided with the baseman and that youth dropped 
the ball. Had Gordon started for home at that mo- 
ment he could have reached it safely, but he didn’t 
and a golden opportunity was lost. 

Nick Blake let two go by, one a strike and the 
other a pitch-out. Then, on the next delivery Myatt 
sprinted to second unchallenged. Nick tried to hit 
but failed and found himself in the hole. Saylor 
coaxed him with a drop and then a wide and high 
one and Nick refused both. It had to be good then 
and it was, and Nick let go at it and dashed for first, 
while Gordon tore in from third and Myatt legged 
it to third. But Nick’s effort was vain, for the 
Mount Morris third-baseman speared the ball a 
yard in the air! 

The Green-and-White was not yet acknowledging 
defeat, and proved it by the way she went after the 
redoubtable Myatt in the last of the seventh. Ben 
was slow and careful today, lacking his usual cer- 
tainty and dash, and after the first man at bat had 
smashed a drive down the first base line for a single 
the home team batters lost their awe of him and 
began to make trouble. Ben retired the second man 
after much trouble by making him fly out to Meyer, 
296 


THE BORROWED HAND-CAR 


and Meyer held the runner at first by a quick re- 
turn. But the next man found something to his 
liking and sped it straight over second and the run- 
ner on first went on to third. Ben’s trip around the 
: bases had been his undoing and he knew it, and after 
he had pitched two balls to the succeeding batsman 
he turned and spoke to Murtha and a consultation 
followed. Mr. Sargent was already on his feet be- 
side the bench. A nod of his head and Guy Weston 

I tossed the ball to Brooks and walked toward the 
mound. 

Ben came out with hanging head and staggered 
when he reached the bench, and Davy Richards, a 
supporting arm around him, led him off to the dress- 
ing-room. 

\l Weston sped in his warming-up deliveries and then 
faced his task. A man on first and one on third, one 
down and two balls on the batsman was the situation, 
and Weston didn’t better it any by pitching two balls 
in succession and adding a third runner to the bases ! 
On the bench, Mr. Sargent watched dismally. 
Brunswick, his last chance now, was warming up, 
but it was a question whether Brunswick could do 
any better than Weston. Mr. Sargent was thinking 
hard things of Dudley Baker at that moment! 

And consequently it was something of a surprise 
to him when Dud’s voice came to him across his 
shoulder! “I’m terribly sorry, sir,” Dud was say- 
297 


WINNING HIS GAME 


ing breathlessly, “but we got left at that place where 
we stopped, Logan and I, and we walked most of 
the way and stole a hand-car, sir, and we just got 
here.” 

Mr. Sargent’s surprise turned to cold disapproval. 
“Very nice. Baker,” he replied scathingly. “It may 
comfort you to know that you’ve probably lost the 
game for us. I had meant you to pitch today, 
but ” 

“Yes, sir, thanks, and I’m all ready to if you’ll 
let me !” 

“All ready to!” Mr. Sargent surveyed the boy’s 
disheveled attire and flushed, tired face sarcasti- 
cally. “You look it! Why, you couldn’t find the 
plate in the condition you are !” 

“You try me, sir! I’ll be all right in three min- 
utes, sir! Just let me get into my togs, Mr. Sar- 
gent, and give me a chance! Will you, sir, please?” 

Weston had just served another ball to the new 
batsman. Mr. Sargent hesitated only an instant. 
Then: “I’ll give you a chance. Baker,” he said 
quickly. “Hurry into your togs. Churchill, show 
Baker where to change. I’ll hold the game up as 
much as I can. But hurry!” 

“Yes, sir, I won’t be three minutes! And Jimmy, 
sir? Logan, I mean. May he ” 

“Yes, yes, only don’t stand here! Hurry, I say.” 

Mr. Sargent sped Parker to where Brunswick 


THE BORROWED HAND-CAR 


was warming up and in a moment Brunswick was lis- 
tening to the coach’s instructions. In the box, Gus 
Weston, ball in hand, waited uncomprehendingly. 
Then Murtha took the sphere from him, slapped 
him on the shoulder and sent him disgustedly to the 
bench. 

“Brunswick pitching for Grafton I” called the um^ 
pi re. 

But Brunswick’s pitching was an extraordinary af^ 
fair ! If cold molasses is slow, then Brunswick was 
molasses frozen to a state of solidity! It took him 
the better part of sixty seconds to get from bench 
to mound, and once there he had to talk long and 
earnestly with Murtha and Winslow. And then he 
went at his warming up very, very slowly, with a 
wait between each delivery. Mount Morris pro- 
tested volubly and the stand hooted, but Brunswick 
was not concerned. Before each delivery he exam- 
ined the ball rather as though he had never seen 
anything just like it before, and then, having as- 
sured himself that it was all right, he studied the 
plate and the catcher, and some time later he pitched. 
Just how long it took him to send those five practice 
balls to Pete Gordon I don’t know, but I’m certain 
that he established a record that afternoon for 
dawdling! And, finally, just as he had pulled his cap 
down for the twentieth time and the batsman was 
impatiently pawing the dirt and waving his bat, an 
299 


WINNING HIS GAME 

interruption occurred. A brand-new scarlet-legged 
player appeared on the scene and walked toward the 
box. Brunswick dropped the ball and turned away 
and Mount Morris found the mystery explained. 
Gordon was yielding his mask and protector to Ed 
Brooks and the umpire, removing his own mask, 
stepped again in front of the plate. 

“For Grafton,” he announced, “Baker pitching, 
Brooks catching I Play ballP* 


CHAPTER XXVII 


WINNING HIS GAME 

B ases filled and only one out I Two balls and 
no strikes on the batsman I A hit meant two 
runs across I All this Guy Murtha explained 
in quick, troubled words to Dud. And Dud, tired 
of face but eager-eyed, nodded quite as though Guy 
had explained that it was a fine day and that the 
weather prediction was for a continuation of pres- 
ent conditions I 

Then Guy went back to his place and the Grafton 
sympathizers stopped cheering and Dud sped his 
five balls to Brooks, each one just where he meant 
it to go. 

Once more the batsman took his place and Dud 
pitched. 

“Str-r-ike !” bawled the umpire, and waved an 
arm aloft. The batter thumped the rubber with his 
: bat. Again Dud launched the ball forward. Again 
it sped straight and true across the platter and knee- 
; high. 

“Str-r-ike two I” 

The batsman grew wary. He no longer fidgeted 


WINNING HIS GAME 


but put his whole mind on the next delivery. Dud ! 
fumbled his cap, took his half wind-up and shot his 
arm to the right and around in a swing. The ball 
flashed to the plate and the umpire hurled his hand 
aloft with a mighty gesture. 

outr ; 

Strident protest from the retreating batsman and ; 
from the Mount Morris bench! Cheers wild and 
triumphant from the Grafton seats and from the 
field! And another green-stockinged player faced ; 
his fate. A ball, a strike, another ball. Then a j 
drop that was swung at and never touched. Two- ' 
and-two, and Mount Morris watching her oppor- , 
tunity slip from her grasp. Then, while Dud ' 
swung his arm up, came a quick cry from behind ! 
him : 

offr 

The man at third was streaking to the plate ! But ; 
so was the ball, and although the batsman swung at | 
It, It lodged safely in Brooks’ mitt and Brooks, drop- ‘ 
ping to his knees, blocked the ambitious runner a foot 
from the plate! 

‘‘Can you keep It up?” asked Mr. Sargent won- : 
deringly as Dud sank to the bench and Davy Rich- ; 
ards flourished a towel In front of his face. i 

“I think so, sir. I’m going to try awfully hard,” : 
answered Dud. ' 

“Well, go easy on yourself this Inning. Let them ■ 
302 


WINNING HIS GAME 


hit a little if you like. There’s another inning com- 
ing and maybe several.” 

“Yes, sir.” Dud’s gaze, straying along the bench, 
caught sight of Jimmy, Jimmy dressed for play and 
with an anxious regard fixed on the coach. “If you 
could, sir,” said Dud, “I wish you’d let Logan in. 
It wasn’t our fault that we got left, sir; at least, not 
wholly; and Jimmy’s crazy to play!” 

“Logan? Maybe in the next inning. I’ll see. 
Here! What’s this?” 

This was Star Meyer picking himself up from the 
water bucket, having in some way tripped over one 
of Jimmy’s feet as he passed. Jimmy was all sym- 
pathy and apologies, but Star only muttered. His 
haughtiness was wholly lacking and the fellows 
viewed with real concern the almost abject manner 
with which he righted the empty pail and retired 
into the far end of the bench. But Jimmy, catching 
Dud’s eye, winked wickedly. 

The eighth passed into history without witnessing 
a run for either side. Grafton got Ordway to first 
on a pass and he went on a base when Ayer lifted 
one to left for the second out. Then, while Boyn- 
ton was at bat, Hugh was caught napping at second 
and another chance to score passed into oblivion. 

Mount Morris’ first man got a hit and was thrown 
out at second on an attempted steal. Brooks making 
as pretty a peg to Murtha as one could hope to see. 

303 


WINNING HIS GAME 


The next man struck out miserably. Then followed 
a scratch hit that came near to being an error for 
Blake. The next man, Saylor, flied out to Murtha 
and ended the eighth. 

Boynton started for Grafton in the ninth by beat- 
ing out a weak hit and the scarlet pennants waved 
again. Meyer, bat on shoulder and stepping to the 
plate, was recalled. 

“Logan batting for Boynton!” called the umpire. 

Jimmy swung at the first ball, disdained the next 
two, had a second strike called on him, started for 
the next and changed his mind and was glad of it 
and was finally passed when what Saylor had meant 
for a strike over the inner corner went wrong. 
With two on bases. Brooks was the man of the hour, 
but Brooks was no hitter and only stood there while 
Saylor fooled him on two slow ones that went for 
strikes, wasted a wide one on him and then made 
him bite at a drop that actually dusted the plate. 
Although Brooks played the game to the last and 
sped for his base the ball was recovered by the 
catcher and got there well ahead of him. 

Dud had as much hope of hitting safely as he had 
of knocking out a home-run. And he knew very 
well that he would be doing only what was expected 
of him if he struck out as badly as Brooks. But he 
wanted very much to do something a little better 
than that As he dug his toes and faced Saylor, he 

304 


WINNING HIS GAME 


i recalled Ben Myatt’s remark that a pitcher who 
could hit was pretty useful. And Dud wanted to 
make himself just that I And so he tried as hard as 
he knew how to keep his eyes on the pitcher and 
study him and then on the ball, and study that, and 
so see if — 

“One ball!” said the umpire. 

Dud took a breath. All right so far. It had been 
too high and he had known it. He wondered if Say- 
lor would try it again or — 

“Str-r-r-ike I” 

I Well, that had certainly fooled him 1 He thought 
surely it was going wide. Saylor had some curve 
on that one! Dud glued his eyes to the ball once 

I more, swung and missed. 

I “Str-r-rike two!” 

! That was awful ! He was as good as gone now ! 
Unless — 

“Two balls!” 

Perhaps Saylor would miss it this time. Then it 
would be three balls and two strikes and Saylor would 
have to pitch! Just why Dud offered at the next 
delivery he didn’t know then and couldn’t have ex- 
plained later. It had all the ear-marks of a fast 
one on the outside of the plate, but for some reason 
Dud let go at it, and the ball, curving inward, met 
his bat fairly and screeched off into short center, low 
enough to have been speared by second-baseman had 

305 


WINNING HIS GAME 


he been two yards nearer its path and long enough to 
send Boynton and Jimmy hustling home. Jimmy 
beat out that throw by inches only, but beat it nev- 
ertheless, while Dud, seeing his chance, streaked to 
second. And Grafton went fairly delirious with joy ! 

Nick hit safely and advanced Dud, Winslow 
fouled out to the catcher and Hugh Ordway, putting 
all his strength into a terrific swing, sent a screech- 
ing fly far into right field but not far enough to 
be out of reach of the guardian of that territory. A 
long hard run and a brilliant catch and the half- 
inning was over. 

Mount Morris tried hard enough in that last 
period to catch up, but she had little chance. Dud 
had no trouble in striking out the first batsman. 
The next hit safely through second base territory. 
The third went out, Winslow to Ayer, and the 
fourth. Mount Morris’ last hope, swung at a high 
one, was fooled by a drop that he didn’t like and 
that was labeled a strike, fouled off another and at 
last, just as the shadow of the grandstand had 
reached the edge of the plate, slammed a straight, 
fast one directly at the pitcher’s box. Dud couldn’t 
make the catch; it was going too hard for that; 
but he knocked it down, found it leisurely enough 
and tossed to Ayer. And as the big first-baseman 
nestled the ball in his glove the stands flowed onto 
the field and the game was over I 
306 


WINNING HIS GAME 


Half an hour later, tired and very, very happy, 
Grafton was returning home. Dud, hero of the 
hour, but a very retiring, modest — even uncomfort- 
able — hero, was wedged between Jimmy and a car 
window. There was much talk, much laughter, 
much noise, and James Townsend Logan was ac- 
countable for fully his share of it. Jimmy had just 
finished recounting the history of their hand-car 
adventure and the subsequent heart-breaking hike to 
Greenbank to as many fellows as could cluster 
within hearing. Blake, sitting on the arm of the 
seat, one hand fondling Jimmy’s damp locks, put a 
question. 

‘‘Where,” he asked, “is Star now, Jimmy?” 

Jimmy grinned, felt carefully of a large lump 
under his left eye and made answer solemnly. 

“He’s coming by the next train. He was — er — 
delayed.” 

“I hope,” said Nick gently, “that you didn’t — 
didn’t damage him, Jimmy.” 

Jimmy turned and smiled broadly up at the ques- 
tioner. 

“You wait till you see him!” he said in a deep, 
ecstatic whisper. 

Mr. Crowley, pushing his way along the aisle, 
paused to thrust a hand over Jimmy’s shoulder. 

“Baker, that was playing ball, my boy,” he said 
happily. “Shake hands! You pitched a fine three 

307 


WINNING HIS GAME 

innings and, what’s more, you won your own game, ' 
boy I” 

Dud murmured his thanks, aware of the kindly, 
smiling looks from the clustered faces, and turned . 
his own face to the window. It occurred to him just i 
then that Mr. Crowley’s expression was capable of : 
two meanings. Yes, he told himself contentedly, he 
had at last won his game I < 

(I) ; 



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